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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Word Count: ~5k Tags: Kindergarten Teacher Azriel, Shibari Artist Elain, Fluff, Smut, Social Media, BDSM, Modern AU Summary: After a messy breakup with her college sweetheart, Elain retreated from her life as a social butterfly, moved home to Velaris, and started a work-from-home career as a shibari artist and a playful, kinky influencer on social media. She’s perfectly comfortable at home, using her earnings from her small online empire to build a greenhouse in her backyard and start a side-hustle as a florist.

But her little sister, Feyre, is eager to get Elain out of hiding—and to set her up with a man to whom she might cling for some peace and quiet. However, there’s more than meets the eye when it comes to Feyre’s long-time friend and the local kindergarten teacher, Azriel.

And Elain knows it all too well.

Read this fic on AO3!

The conversation shifted and warped into a dull murmur as it filtered in through one of Elain’s ears and out of the other. She was vaguely aware that Feyre was volunteering her for other school events, holiday parties and costumed parades and field trips, but she couldn’t keep track of any of it. The left side of her body was too hot, every nerve ending firing off warning signals, endlessly aware of the man seated beside her.

And every time she closed her eyes, she saw an error screen burned into the backs of her eyelids.

404 BRAIN NOT FOUND

It was the same empty-headedness that inspired her to tease him. It had to be. The too-familiar thrill of lying to her sisters had taken hold of her, and spurred on by her new accomplice, she had dared to look to him for encouragement—for permission—before digging herself into a deeper hole.

Gods, what had she been thinking?

Nothing, clearly.

But he had played along. He had played along… and then he had played with her. Had confirmed that he knew her dirty little secrets—Elain sincerely doubted that his students were actually making literal rope bunnies for Nynsar.

What few brain cells remained were working overtime, joining hands and screeching, Azriel is the Shadowsinger! Azriel is the Shadowsinger! while they danced around the electrical fire sparking to life in her empty head. She tried desperately to wrangle her thoughts into some semblance of order, to reconcile what she knew about Feyre’s reclusive teacher friend with the nameless, faceless artist she’d been obsessed with for years now. The artist who—

Her head went quiet.

Her skin chilled.

Oh, gods.

The Shadowsinger followed her.

She chanced a glance at the shadows beside her. His long, long legs stretched out into the darkness, a black booted foot propped on one knee.

She bit her lip and didn’t dare look any higher.

The day the notification from @the_shadowsinger dinged her phone to life had been one of the best, but now she was beginning to regret the giddy way she’d waved the thing around in the air and danced around the room. She had only posted a handful of amateurish videos when he found her, had only just admitted that her master’s program was boring her out of her mind and started brainstorming ideas and mustering up the courage to tell her boyfriend she wanted to post more risque content as some sort of subscription service to pay off the student loans she’d taken out for grad school.

And then that black and white profile photo of those mesmerizing scarred hands bound in rope popped onto her Recent Activity page.

Her heart had skidded to a stop when she saw it. An imposter, she told herself. Someone who took one of his photos and impersonated a fairly infamous, anonymous artist for clout.

But when she clicked onto his profile, there it was: black-and-white videos of ropes sliding and twisting and coiling under his expert touch, shaped into those proprietary, possessive hands that marked each rig as his. A scarred finger trailing its way down a table full of safety scissors, ranking from best to worst. Silent tutorials, punctuated only by the rasp of rope and text captions in an unmissable shade of cobalt blue to demand viewers practice safely, securely, and do their research before trying anything they saw on his page.

Elain spent days watching him, studying him while idly twisting her own ropes into clumsy shapes. After a week, she managed to craft a new harness for herself, one with a winding mandala in the middle—a dahlia to adorn the expanse of her ribs.

She filmed the video twice.

Once with the pink rope and camisole set that she used in all of her TikTok videos. Branding was important, after all, and that soft shade of peony pink stood out like a beacon amongst the sea of red and black that dominated kinky spaces.

And once with blue, purely to get a rise out of the mysterious rigger who only posted in black and white and blue.

She uploaded the blue harness, and not twenty minutes later, amid a flurry of notifications, the one she was waiting for, followed quickly by a second.

@the_shadowsinger liked your video!

@the_shadowsinger commented on your video: Excellent work.

Short and simple, his praise had only been a few pixels on a screen, but it had left her dizzy with joy for the rest of the day, so heady she felt almost drugged. Elain had her blog up within the week, desperate to her bones to see if he might follow, might reach out, might say something else to her.

He’d been her third subscriber—and the first to join the highest tier of paid subscriptions, the one that allowed him more than the naughty bits of the videos she posted on TikTok where she wore far fewer clothes. For $25 a month, the man sitting beside her got to watch her weave a web of silk and cotton around her naked body and pleasure herself in new and creative ways once a week, every week.

He liked everything she posted.

Like clockwork, he liked every video she posted the day she posted it. It didn’t matter what she used either, because he would like it. Fingers, vibrators, ice cubes, her showerhead… He liked it all. Once, she had carefully braided herself a choker out of silver wire, a secret, dirty bit of jewelry, and he had liked and unliked and reliked that one in rapid succession.

But he never commented again. Never DMed her, never pushed or begged or bribed for more than she was willing to give, never sent her unsolicited dick pics like so many of her subscribers did. Never explained his votes—or told her if he voted—when she polled her subscribers to learn what they wanted to see her do next. Which toy she should play with next, and how.

A scarred hand slipped into her rapidly tunneling field of vision and placed a napkin on the table beneath her cookie.

Elain forced herself to stop mangling her treat.

Feyre was still chattering away about the Solstice project she was planning for her students when Azriel shifted again. Elain’s eyes shot to him, to the hand he slipped into the pocket of his dark jeans. He cleared his throat quietly as he lifted a silver Zippo from his pocket, nodding toward the open edge of the booth with a silent request in his eyes. Elain blinked at him, following his attention to Feyre; a glance at her sister revealed Feyre’s pursed lips, but she slid out of the booth anyway, hooking her arm into Elain’s.

Elain couldn’t do anything but follow her lead.

Wordlessly, she set down the sugary remains of her snack on the napkin in front of her, licking a bit of frosting from her thumb, and slipped out of the booth easily. She was too aware of the cushion dipping beside her as Azriel followed her out. The friction of denim against her wool-covered knee made her breath catch, and she swayed as Feyre pulled her to her feet.

Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. She hadn’t had a single sip of the drink Cassian had promised her, but her head was already swimming.

A hand ghosted over the small of her back, a warm breath curling around her ear.

“Careful.”

His voice was a caress of silk— No. Of rope. It slid over the soft, vulnerable part of Elain’s throat, down her spine, around her hips, between her thighs. It tangled in the ends of her hair, making her hyperaware of the tingling in her scalp as the longest layers caught beneath his palm, pulling ever so slightly.

Azriel towered over her.

It was indecent, she thought, that a kindergarten teacher should be so tall.

So tall and… Her eyes drifted to the bicep level with her eyes. Even through his plain, thermal henley, she could see the rounded bands of muscle that lined his arm. The little divot between his pecs peeked out of the open V at his throat, and Elain’s mouth went dry.

Large. He was sinfully large. For a moment, she was sure he never got any work at all done. How could he, when the PTA probably held meetings dedicated to just looking at him?

Elain scowled. Didn’t those hypothetical busybody parents know he had a job to do? A job that involved teaching their children to read and do math and —

She imagined Azriel on the playground, clearing away the tears of a student who scraped their knee with a gentleness belied by a body that seemed more ready to fight a war than to referee a schoolyard game of tug-of-war. Azriel, besieged by happy children climbing him like a jungle gym. Azriel, seated on a stool far too short while he read a picture book to an enraptured audience of five year olds.

He didn’t look the type, but Elain knew for a fact that he did different voices for every character thanks to Nyx.

Her mouth went impossibly drier.

When she looked back at him, Azriel’s brow was lifted, but he only waited a moment, as if he was making sure she wasn’t about to come apart like a worked-over Jenga tower and fall to pieces beneath the table. Those gorgeous hazel eyes all but glowed down at her, and when Elain was struck with the thought that behind them lay the knowledge of every dirty secret she kept in her bedside table—even the sparkly purple one with ten different vibration settings—she wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” she managed to cough out.

Oh, yes. She wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the table as his lips quirked and he swept past, cutting easily through the crowd.

“Where’s Az going?” Elain jumped as Cassian’s voice boomed over the low roar of the bar. A heavy arm curved around her shoulders, pulling her in tight.

Feyre wrinkled her nose at him. “To smoke.”

On the other side of Rita’s, the door to the patio opened, letting in a gust of air that reached its icy fingers all the way back to their booth. Azriel’s dark head of hair ducked through it as Elain breathed deeply, finding some small relief from the heat gathering in her throat in the chill.

Rhys slid out of the mass of bodies and into place beside Feyre, pecking the tip of her nose. She lifted a glass out of his overfull hands, sniffed it, and took a sip.

“Not bad.”

“I’m glad Rita’s premixed margaritas meet your standards, darling,” Rhys said. Although he gave her drink a judgmental grimace, his eyes were locked on her sister and so painfully soft that Elain’s ribs felt too tight. “Come on.”

Elain was vacantly aware of Cassian pressing a glass dripping with condensation into her own hand. He sauntered up to the table, dropping an unopened can of soda onto the table in front of Nesta with an easy, teasing grin, and slid into the seat beside Mor. Rhys was next to gesture Feyre into her seat. It might have made her a bad, manipulative sister, but Elain waited until Rhys seated himself too, until both of her sisters were trapped on the inside of the booth.

“I think I need some air, too,” she murmured to Feyre, leaning into the dim booth, glancing back at the door Azriel disappeared through. Now that her breathing had gone reedy and shallow again, every body in the Friday night crowd seemed to press in too close, and the walls loomed high and tight around her.

And if Azriel got to escape it all for a smoke, no questions asked, then Elain thought she deserved a little fresh air and quiet, too.

“Are you okay?” Worry flashed in Feyre’s expression, and Elain felt Nesta’s hard stare hone in on the back of her head. It was a stare that felt like early morning check-ins and getting force-fed instant oatmeal while Nesta made angry faces and pretended she wasn’t on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you with Az…”

“No, no. It’s not that.” Elain’s hand tightened around her glass with such force that she worried it might shatter, and the ice inside clinked noisily. No, her issue definitely wasn’t Azriel—or at least, not the Azriel that everyone at the table knew. “It’s just…” Lamely, she gestured at the crowd.

Feyre’s mouth dropped open, guilt painting lines onto her face, and she nodded. “Go, go!”

So Elain went. She didn’t spare Nesta a backwards glance.

She elbowed her way through groups of haggard coworkers, and when she was finally outside, finally bared to the wintry air, she leaned back against the rough siding of the building, gulped down a tasteless sip of her drink, and pressed the sweaty glass to her overheated cheek. With her eyes closed, she took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Are you alright?”

That cool, midnight-sky voice made her shiver, dripping onto her collar and trailing along her skin alongside the cold condensation from her drink.

“Yes,” she said on a sigh.

She opened her eyes to look out across the dimly lit deck—clearly, in the dead of a northern winter, Rita felt no need to run up the energy bill by keeping the lights on outside. The only light came from the flickering lighter illuminating Azriel’s beautiful face and the street light on the corner that gilded the rough wooden railing and the lone, empty table that fit in the cramped space.

Empty.

Alone.

They were completely alone.

Elain’s legs felt like jelly.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” he said, snuffing the flame with a snap of his wrist.

Elain almost whimpered in protest when he disappeared into the darkness before she had a chance to drink him in.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just too busy in there.” She cleared her throat, letting her drink fall away from her face. It left a mortifying wet imprint, and she lifted her sleeve to dab it away as she glanced through the darkness toward him. Although she couldn’t see his face, his skepticism was palpable, his silence weighted. “Are you supposed to be some sort of expert?”

The words fell out of her mouth before she could think better of them. But Azriel only huffed, a bit of smoke curling in the dim light haloing his head, and leaned back against the railing.

“Bit of an occupational hazard,” he said. “First day of school jitters, stomach bugs, allergies, cafeteria accidents… ”

“Oh.”

Sharp, white teeth gleamed. “Oh.”

Silence stretched as the air grew heavy, electrified, and Elain swore she could feel the buzz from the streetlight rattling her down to her core. She pushed away from the wall, straightening her spine, and took a bracing sip of her drink. A few brave steps brought her within arm’s reach of Azriel, and she set her glass down on the railing, puffing a few warm breaths into her palms to dispel the lingering chill of the ice.

“So…”

Her eyes locked on a fading sticker plastered to the railing beside his hand. His fingers clenched, and her stomach tightened and warmed in response. How many times had she imagined what they would feel like? Whether they were gentle or firm, callused or smooth? Vivid images of those hands stroking down her freckled thighs flashed in her mind.

His other hand rose to his mouth, the lit end of his cigarette flaring as he took a drag, and the trainwreck happening in Elain’s head crashed to a halt.

“What kind of kindergarten teacher smokes?”

“The cool kind.” Azriel paused and bent his head back to blow the smoke into the street. When he turned back to Elain, a slight grimace pulled at his expression. “Don’t tell my students I said that. I would never hear the end of it.”

Although it wasn’t any sort of order, part of any game they were playing, Elain’s cheeks still heated at the command in his voice.

“Not a chance. I’ll even be nice and refrain from mentioning it to Feyre, too.” Some of the tension in Azriel’s shoulders seeped away, a minute, almost imperceptible change, but Elain noticed it. She bit back a smile; the kindergarten teacher with a dirty habit he didn’t want to model for his kids was so at odds with the silent, stern Shadowsinger, and yet the strangely harmonious duality of it charmed her. And although Elain knew she would cause permanent damage to her feet if she tiptoed around the subject any harder, she didn’t care as she opened her mouth and asked, “What drew you to it?”

“Smoking? Or teaching?” Azriel dipped his head toward her, letting the light limn his fine features in gold. His face was straight, but amusement glimmered in his eyes—amusement and a challenge. “The smoking is only social, I swear.”

The sweet, smoldering scents of tobacco and cedar filled the space between them, and Elain, who had never once understood the draw to such a dangerous vice, suddenly realized how easy it was to become utterly addicted.

“I meant teaching.” Slowly, in a painful effort to distract herself, she scuffed one boot along the weathered floorboards beneath their feet, tapping the tip of it against the side of his foot. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Azriel agreed in a low murmur. It wasn’t quite crooning, wasn’t quite teasing, but made little flashing lights start blinking in her mind nonetheless. He took a breath and rolled his shoulders back. “It was an accident. I majored in philosophy my freshman year in college and became fixated on this one idea—the Nephelle philosophy. Are you familiar with it?”

Elain shook her head.

“Essentially, it’s the philosophy that the smallest, weakest member of a society can do a great deal. The most unlikely person can change the course of history.“

“Like children.”

A small smile pulled at the edges of Azriel’s lips. “Like children. Rhys and Cassian were already majoring in education, so they used my interest in it to drag me to a few courses with them. I ended up on the Early Childhood Education path before the year was out, and now I get to teach little minds how to do great things.”

“Oh, that… That’s beautiful.”

Azriel was a gorgeous man. Scars and all—the fact that he was handsome, classically and painfully so, was not in question. But somehow, suddenly, as Elain realized that Feyre had wildly undersold how much the drop-dead gorgeous man in front of her liked working with children the few times they’d spoken about him—and had no clue at all about his online alter-ego—he became soul-meltingly attractive to her.

One firm shoulder shrugged. “Well, they vomit a lot, too. We went over that, didn’t we?”

“And yet you still do it.”

Azriel didn’t say a word as he lifted the cigarette back to his lips. And, gods, he had beautiful lips, full and lush. Gentle, too, as they wrapped around the—

Elain pressed on, ignoring the heat pooling between her thighs. “It’s strange, that this is the first time we’re meeting, isn’t it? I mean, you’re practically Feyre’s brother-in-law, and now you’re Nyx’s teacher—”

“I know what you mean,” Azriel cut off her babbling with a small nod. “Maybe if Rhys hadn’t eloped with Feyre before any of us could realize he robbed the cradle, we might have…”

He trailed off with a small frown, and Elain, at a loss for what to do with her arms in the suddenly awkward silence, clasped them around herself. His eyes dropped as if on instinct her breasts, and she watched, skin tingling, as they went dark.

A split-second later, his frown deepened, and he looked away.

Disappointment panged her insides. Feyre had been young when she met Rhys. Just nineteen, just a student teacher. The news that she was pregnant with her supervisor’s child—and then, a week later, that she had run off to get married in the dead of night to that same man—had been an unwelcome shock to Elain and Nesta before they got to know Rhys, but to Rhys’s family…

To them, watching their successful thirty-something friend run off with a woman as young and poor as Feyre had been must have been horrifying.

“They’re really in love,” Elain said, ready to forget how attractive Azriel was, how much she wanted to play with the Shadowsinger, and defend her sister instead. She squared her shoulders.

But Azriel only softened. The scarred hand still clenching the railing relaxed, turning palm up. Open, honest. “They are. She’s been good for him.”

Warily, she watched him. “And Nyx is a blessing.”

“He is,” her nephew’s godfather agreed easily. Godfather—Azriel was Nyx’s godfather. Warmth dripped down from Elain’s cheeks and into her belly at the thought, and she carefully ignored the way Azriel seemed to scan her face as he said, “He wouldn’t stop bragging about your trip to the botanical gardens with him, you know? Even brought a few flowers for show and tell. Every month I get to hear about a new adventure he’s been on with Aunt Elain. You must be great with him.”

Happiness, pure and simple, pressed against the confines of her chest, and Elain waved him off. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to be a mom. He’s good practice.”

A slow, measured breath pushed out of Azriel. “He’s certainly that.”

“And you?”

A dark brow rose. “You’re asking me if I want children?”

“What?” Elain shuffled back ten seconds in her mind and blanched. She hadn’t even thought before speaking—hadn’t even realized what she asked. “Oh, gods, no. Forget I—“

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter what I want.” Azriel said, a shade too softly. His attention was as hot as a brand, and Elain squirmed. “I’m single, and I get plenty of one-on-one time with my kids at school for now.”

For now.

It was ridiculous that two small words should make her knees so weak.

“So what do you do for work, Elain?”

“You know what I do,” she demurred, her pulse beating hard against her throat. The tension in the air ratcheted higher, tighter.

Azriel tilted his head. He said nothing.

A hard swallow alerted her to her dry throat, and she reached for her drink. “I— Feyre told you. I’m a florist.”

Her fingers brushed the cold glass, and an iron hand clamped down on hers. Elain jumped, and a rough thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. Soothing.

“You should be sober for this,” Azriel told her, serious as death.

He waited, his grip on her gentling, giving her a silent choice. His eyes flickered when she pulled her hand free, but she simply dropped it and curled her fingers into the belt at her waist once more. He waited another moment… and then nodded—just one dip of the chin that made the butterflies in her stomach take wing.

“Nesta said you were a content creator,” he pushed after a beat. She didn’t try to calm her nerves with alcohol or run screaming, and he hummed quietly, thoughtfully. “I thought the flowers were a hobby.”

“I can be both, can’t I?”

“You can.” Azriel’s eyes return to hers, twin black voids in the dark. “I used to wonder how you could find so many fresh flowers for your videos so late in the year.”

“You could have asked,” Elain whispered as he took another drag. “I would have answered you.”

His stare was so hard, so intent, that it pinned Elain in place as he leaned in. The last remnants of his breath blew smoke through the hair hanging beside her face, across her bare collarbone—and she secretly thought it would have been unforgivably rude if the strange possessiveness in that lone breath didn’t make her want to fall to her knees and beg for more. To slant her mouth over his and beg to share his breath with him.

Elain’s body moved before her brain caught up, pressing closer. Azriel’s hand, the one that had wrapped around her wrist, rose. It twitched toward her, hovering in the air between them, and she bent her head backward, her eyelids fluttering shut as she bared herself to him.

Offer and permission.

But Azriel didn’t graze his fingertips over her jaw. He didn’t thread his fingers through her hair or curl his palm around her throat. No, his first two fingers barely caressed her as they hooked into the neckline of her dress and pulled it away from her body.

“Fuck.”

Elain blinked her eyes open, her vision having blurred into a needy haze, and looked at him. His attention was locked on her exposed breasts, on the simple, comfortable cotton bra printed with flowers they spilled out of. A little rosette made of curled satin ribbon rested against her sternum, hanging on by a single thread after surviving last year’s growth spurt and countless cycles through the washing machine.

“It’s laundry day,” she squeaked, feeling every square inch of cotton straining against her oversensitive skin. Her arms rose out of instinct to cover herself, to hide, but she forced herself to only curl her hands into fists at her sides.

“Of course it is,” he agreed with a small, pleased glance, so quietly that she had to rise onto her toes to hear. They were close enough that every word washed over her. She tasted the smoke in his breath on her tongue and ached for more, for the glide of his lips against hers, his tongue at her teeth. “There’s nothing else to do in Velaris but laundry on a Friday night.”

“Well, sometimes…” Elain trailed off, nerves taking hold, and let out a shaky breath.

“Sometimes…?” Azriel coaxed.

“I go to art showings.”

He made a low, considering noise. “With a sister like Feyre—“

She shook her head, and Azriel went silent. Her voice barely broke a whisper when she admitted, “I go by myself.”

Azriel’s next smile, lazy and indulgent, was all the warning she got before he asked, “What kind of art showings do you go to by yourself, bunny?”

Bunny. The world shifted on its axis for the second time that night, and Elain held her breath to prevent herself from making an embarrassing sound. His whiskey-rich rasp dripped down her body, past the aching points of her nipples, and pooled between her thighs. Already, her tights were mortifyingly damp.

Elain shoved all the courage in her body into her hand and curled two fingers into the belt loop at his side. “Yours. Turns out we both work two jobs.”

“Have to pay the rent somehow.” Using the fingertips curled into the neckline of her dress, Azriel pulled her, guided her, until her back hit the railing. He stamped out his cigarette in the small puddle beside her drink, and then that arm curved around her. Embracing, caging, but not touching. “Teachers don’t make any money. You should know sex sells.”

An anxious, anticipatory shiver wracked Elain from head to toe.

His eyes took on a hungry, feral look. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not,” she lied through chattering teeth. He clocked it, his mouth pursing, but she pulled at the belt loop, twisting her fingers up in it. “A little bit, maybe.”

“Why, Elain?”

She didn’t think. She didn’t give herself a single chance to back out, to let the tattered remains of her modesty and better sense appeal to her.

“I want you to tie me up.”

Azriel groaned, and the dangerous noise went straight to her pussy. His eyes slipped downward again, seeing something that she couldn’t see—mapping her body in one of those masterpieces of knots he crafted, undoubtedly—and she forced herself to breathe.

His hand shifted, letting go of her dress and pressing flat over her chest, the pad of his thumb filling the hollow of her throat. For a long, long moment, he stared at that hand against her chest. “I think a collaboration can be arranged.”

Elain pressed her thighs together, the sudden aching, hollow sensation between her legs too much to bear. “Tomorrow?”

“Eager.” When she nodded, a huff of laughter swept across her skin. “I’m afraid you have other commitments tomorrow.”

“I— What?”

Azriel’s hand fell away from her. He leaned back, and the frostbitten air filled the space between them.

“Feyre volunteered you to help set the stage for the Solstice pageant this weekend.” His eyes shone, laughing silently at her. “Starting bright and early tomorrow morning at seven.”

Elain melted into the cold metal against her back. “Damn.”

“Such filthy language.” Although a hint of amusement remained in his expression, Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t tolerate it if you do choose to be mine.”

Oh, gods.

Elain was damned. She was damned, and this was hell, and this endless teasing that pressed every last button, tickled every kink and fetish she had without ever coming to fruition was some sort of divine punishment.

“Yours?”

“Mine,” Azriel rasped. The loop around her fingers went loose as he shifted, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her hip. His lips met her ear. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. I’m not going to be able to stop at tying you up.”

“You barely know me,” she protested.

“But I will.”

An answer. A vow.

The shadows embracing him seemed to darken with promise, and Elain shuddered.

“I’ll freshen this up for you, and we can talk more tomorrow.” He redirected her attention to the glass he lifted off of the railing as he drew away, gently, cautiously extricating himself from her. As if he suspected what she felt—that she might truly collapse into a puddle without his support. But she stayed upright, and once he deemed her steady enough, he was at the door. His hand tightened on the knob, but he paused. “You’ll freeze to death in that dress. Come inside.”

Desire lit every nerve ending in her body, and she was eager, maybe too eager, to please.

So Elain went inside.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #my fics #acotar #glitch #a court of thorns and roses fic #modern au #smut #elain #elain x azriel

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snelbz · 11 months

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Better or Worse {18}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the late post! I had it queued for pm instead of am and just noticed. We’re almost to the end of Nesta and Cassian’s journey of growth, but we hope you’ve enjoyed reading this one as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it!

Almost every counseling appointment we’ve gone to, Nesta has been right there by my side. But Gwyn asked us to meet separately this week and that shouldn’t make me as nervous as it does. I know it’s common for therapists to want to talk to each person on their own, but even at the beginning, even when we weren’t speaking, having Nesta there was a balm to me. I was able to open up and talk about my thoughts, my feelings even if I wasn’t sure how I felt about them.

Now, sitting across from Gwyn, I feel like I’m back at square one. Rather than the usual couch, I’m sitting in an armchair identical to the one she’s in.

Her notepad is resting in her lap, but she doesn’t look down at it. She doesn’t even have a pen. “How are you doing this afternoon, Cass?”

“Good,” I say, but nothing more which makes her smile.

“Nervous?” She asks, not unkindly.

I sigh. “Yeah? Which is weird, right? Because we know each other fairly well by now.”

“True, but it’s not weird, it’s actually common,” she assures me. “You’re not used to doing this alone. It’s a big step.”

There was a time when her tone would piss me off, would make me feel like she thinks she’s talking to a child, but not anymore. I know she’s genuine in everything she says.

“I guess so,” I agree, and answer her question honestly. “I am good, though. Yes, nervous, but everything has been going really, really good. Great. Nesta and I are, uh, renewing our vows.”

“Oh?” Gwyn asks and she sounds happy about it, which is a good sign. “When?”

“A month. I actually asked her when we got back from our little vacation, after we left here.” I shrug. Since we’ve been doing so well in our marriage, we haven’t been coming to see Gwyn as much. “It felt like the right thing to do. I asked; she said yes.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says, and I know she means it.

My appointment goes on like that and after a few more minutes I actually start to fully relax. I told her everything, probably oversharing at some points but I can’t help it. I feel like I just fell in love again for the very first time, although this time feels much stronger than that. Nesta and I have a bond that can’t be broken, that can never be shaken again.

After telling Gwyn goodbye, I head to Nyx’s preschool to pick him up. He’s waiting for me with his backpack on and his lunchbox in hand, and the second I pull up to the curb, he’s jumping up and down.

“Hey buddy.” I hop out of the truck and give my nephew a hug while ignoring the wandering eyes of his teacher, as usual. She’s at least seventy, I swear, and I have no clue how she hasn’t retired yet.

“Uncle Cass, we learned about bugs today!”

So begins my rundown of his day, right down to his snacks and the lunch Feyre packed for him that morning.

My phone rings as I’m putting my car in park in the garage. When I see it’s Elain, my brows pull together. I love my sister-in-law, and would do anything for her at any time. But she doesn't usually call me. I answer as I round the truck to get Nyx out of his carseat.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cass.”

“Is everything okay?”

Her cheery laughter floats through the phone. “Everything is fine. I was seeing if Nesta was with you. I tried her cell but she didn’t answer and I wanted to get a final decision on the flowers for the ceremony.”

I’m a man of many talents. I pride myself on being knowledgeable about many things. Flowers sure as shit isn’t one of them.

Scratching at my beard, I head into the house, Nyx on my heels. “She had a meeting with Eris and the publishers this afternoon, but should be home around five if you can wait that long.”

I hear the telltale sounds of Nyx dropping his backpack. “Hi, Greg!”

“Alright, I’ll try her then. Thanks!”

We say our goodbyes and I toss my phone on the kitchen counter only to realize the kitchen has become far too quiet. When I turn around, Nyx is nowhere to be found.

Just before I can completely panic, Nyx comes back through the door, crying.

I frown. “What happened, buddy?”

“Greg,” he says, a sobbing mess. “Door…open…Greg.”

He can barely get the words out but I get the gist. With a sigh, I pick Nyx up and pat his back. “It’s okay. Greg gets out sometimes, I’ll find him.”

I set Nyx up on the couch with a juice box and a bowl of popcorn while he watches Bluey before finding myself going around the outside of the house, looking in all the bushes.

No Greg.

I call his name and all of my neighbors that don’t know me are probably wondering why I’m going around my house, yelling for a Greg, but I ignore any potential neighbor’s judgment. Every minute that passes that I can’t find him, I get worried. Nesta loves this cat like a child.

And I can’t find him.

When I finally head back inside, Nyx’s head pokes over the top of the couch. He’s still sniffling as he asks, “Did you find him?”

I hesitate for a second because I don’t want him to worry, I don’t want him to start crying again, and I definitely don’t want him telling Nesta about this. So I decide to go with a little white lie. “I did. He was having fun running around and asked to stay outside a little longer. I told him he could play outside until it gets dark.”

Thankfully, that perks him up and blessedly derails his toddler attention span. “Did you know that lightning bugs come out when it’s dark? And then their butts light up?”

For the rest of the afternoon, I’ve got one eye on Nyx and one on the window at the back deck. On multiple occasions, I run outside with the bag of treats and shake it as obnoxiously as I can.

The damn cat never comes back.

As the clock ticks closer and closer to five, I start to panic. How am I going to tell Nesta I let Greg get out? Better yet, how am I going to keep Nyx from saying something?

Before I can come up with a foolproof plan, the garage door opens and my beautiful wife comes strolling in. She gives me a smile and a kiss on the cheek before asking, “How was your appointment with Gwyn?”

“Fine,” I answer, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth I know that I’ve answered way too quickly. Her joyful demeanor falters and I hesitate, which makes her frown.

“What?” she asks, and there’s a bite to her voice which I know means I should tread carefully if I want to try and keep the peace.

“Look,” I say, and take a deep breath. I watch her eyes as they go from angry to concerned to confused. “I…there was...Nyx accidentally…Gre—”

Just as I’m about to say his name, the furry little bastard charges into the room and jumps up on the kitchen island to greet Nesta. My wife momentarily forgets about me and scratches the cat under his chin.

I stare, dumbfounded. “I…what the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Nesta asks, remembering I exist and crossing her arms. “Okay, what did you do?” “Nothing,” I say, and grab her face, bringing her mouth abruptly to mine. She’s surprised for a second, but melts into me as my lips keep moving.

“Ew!”

We pull apart to look at Nyx, who is standing in the doorway and covering his eyes. When he peeks through his fingers, he gasps. “GREG! I thought we lost you forever! I was soooooooooo scared! Uncle Cass, wasn’t I scared?”

I purse my lips and slowly bring my gaze back to Nesta’s. She’s watching me with narrowed eyes full of hellfire.

“So, we lost Greg,” I confess, quietly. Nyx doesn’t seem to notice the tension as he grabs the cat off the island and carries him into the living room. I open my mouth to give a long, pathetic story about what happened, but Nesta shakes her head and puts her fingers over my mouth.

“I don’t wanna know,” she says, and her eyes soften. “He’s here, he’s safe, do better next time.”

I blink, thinking it’s a trap and not wanting to curse it. “Yeah, okay.” Now I’m suspicious. “You’re taking this too well, it’s scaring me.”

She snorts and runs her hands down my chest and bundles my t-shirt in her hands. “I want tonight to be a good night. We’ve been a little stressed lately, planning this wedding so quickly…” She shrugs. “No more stress.”

I feel like there’s something she’s not telling me. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been married for a decade, but I feel like something’s off. “Nesta—”

She looks over my shoulder, into the living room at Nyx and Greg snuggling on the couch, then back to me.

“What?” I ask, and try not to let my worry creep in too far. “What happened? Are you okay? Did Eris piss you off? The fuck did that prick do now—”

“Eris didn’t do anything, for once,” she says, laughing quietly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just…been thinking about something, but I thought we could wait until we’re alone tonight to talk about it.”

I hate that.

I hate when someone says we need to talk, especially my wife, then doesn’t tell me what it is we need to talk about.

“Now I’m going to spend the entire afternoon worrying about whatever it is you have to say,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“It’s nothing bad,” she whispers, and leans up on her toes to kiss me. I grab her ass and squeeze for comfort. “Just something I’ve been thinking about. A lot. Come on, let’s make dinner before Feyre gets here to pick him up.”

And that’s that. I throw together a quick meal of blackened chicken, green beans, and red potatoes, which Nyx devours as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. More than once, Nesta has to remind him to take smaller bites, but he manages to clean his plate without choking. Nyx regales Nesta with his school day, as well, telling her all about his studies but conveniently forgetting the story he told me about the little girl on the playground who held his hand.

Nesta is in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, while Nyx and I are on the couch watching Bluey when I hear the door from the garage open. Nyx, engrossed in whatever shenanigans Bluey and Bingo have gotten into, doesn’t notice the quiet greetings or the hushed whispers and murmuring.

But I do.

It sets me on edge, immediately thinking of whatever Nesta wants to talk about when we’re alone. It sends my brain straight into “overthink” mode and I don’t notice that Nyx has said something until he calls my name a second time.

“What was that, bud?”

“I said that daddy said I could get a puppy just like Bluey.”

“Did he now?” Feyre asks, breezing in from the kitchen.

“Mama!” Nyx is off the couch in a flash and crashing into her legs.

His backpack is already slung over her elbow and she lifts Nyx into her arms, hugging his close. “Hi, bub. Ready to go home?”

“Yes! Me and Uncle Cass lost Greg.” Feyre’s smile falters but Nyx charges on. “Don’t worry, mama, we found him.”

We say our goodbyes and promise to see them soon, and when it’s just me and Nesta alone, I can’t control myself any longer.

“So.”

She chuckles as she sits next to me on the couch and turns off Bluey. “So.”

I wait for her to say something but when she doesn’t go on, I throw my hands in the air. “Damn it, Nesta, please just—”

“I think we should look into adoption.” The words rush out of her, quietly. “I think we should adopt.”

Out of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it. I’m at a loss for words.

It’s not until I notice her eyes start to line with tears that I come back, my mind catching up with me.

“You don’t want—”

“I’m just surprised,” I say, before she can worry. “I mean, adoption is…that’s a lot. That’s big.”

“I’m ready to be a mom, babe,” she says, and a tear falls as her voice breaks. “We’ve been ready for a family for so long and I’m accepting that I’m not ever going to have a baby.” I want to protest, but I can’t. “So I thought we could have a baby, or a child, through adoption.”

I’m quiet for a moment, but Nesta doesn’t push me.

Adoption had never even crossed my mind and I’m a little ashamed of myself for not considering it. Growing up in the foster system, how many years did I dream of someone finally deciding I was worth the trouble, of a family adopting me and giving me the happy home I’d always dreamed of. But Nesta wanted to be a mother and I never thought farther than giving her that dream myself, of our child growing inside of her.

Who’s to say the child we’ve been dreaming of isn’t already out there?

“Do you want to quit trying?” I ask, carefully. “To have our own?”

“Absolutely not,” she scoffs, and I can tell she’s trying not to be emotional. She knows my past more intimately than anyone else on the planet. “You think after finally having sex after months of celibacy, I’ll be able to go back?”

I swallow and huff a laugh but stay quiet for a minute, allowing my thoughts to catch up with me. My thoughts that are all over the place.

“Okay,” I say, quietly, and her tears spill over. I wipe them away, carefully. “After the wedding…we can start the process, if it’s what you truly want.”

“It is,” she says, and there is no doubt. “But is it what you want?”

“A family with you is all I have ever wanted,” I say, and it is wholly the truth.

I can’t help my own consuming emotion as she kisses me. Every day I don’t know how my marriage can get better, how I can love this woman more, but then I do. I didn’t know this love, this excitement for the future could still be so strong, so evident after ten years.

I’m so ridiculously in love with this woman that I can’t believe it. I show her as much as I lay her down on the couch and take my sweet time with every beautiful, magnificent inch of her body.

We will have our family soon enough, one way or another, and I can’t wait.

#better or worse #nessian bow #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #ACOSF #nessian #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

Is There A Word For Bad Miracle?

Summary: What if I told you none of it was accidental, and the first night that you saw me, nothing was going to stop me?

That time Rhys stumbled on Feyre committing a murder and decided he had to have her

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In retrospect, Feyre would never know why this time was different. When her boyfriend lifted his hand and struck her, sending her crashing to the floor, she didn’t know why it filled her with rage instead of fear. Or why she picked up that vase filled with half-dead roses and slammed it over his head.

Feyre had just reacted. It was pure anger—Tamlin bruised her face so she couldn’t attend her art show the next night and was forced to stay in, all because he wanted her with him and no one else. He’d done it so many times, had ignored her pleas for him to see a therapist about his anger and the trauma he’d endured by a former lover instead of venting his rage on her.

She suspected the control made him feel safe.

She didn’t feel safe. Didn’t that matter? He never heard her, and followed her when she left until she broke down and took him back, Over and over, until Feyre was a joke to her friends, her family. No one believed her when she said this was the last time.

They didn’t care when she left him.

The vase smashed against that sunlit blonde hair, catching him off guard. Tamlin was a big man—it took a lot to surprise him. He stumbled, pitching forward. He smashed his face against the fireplace mantle with a sickening crunch before crumpling to the ground. Feyre didn’t move, panting for air.

Blood pooled around his face, and still Tamlin didn’t get up. They were silent for a multitude of heartbeats.

“Tam?” she whispered as cold slithered down her spine. He didn’t respond. Feyre crept closer and closer, pushing aside strands of his hair to look at him. With shaking hands, she pressed her fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh—fuck.”

Feyre stepped away from him, scrambling for her phone before she remembered it was in his pocket. She wasn’t allowed unrestricted access to it, given how he felt she abused her privilege and talked badly about him. He was determined to control everything about her—even her thoughts.

Feyre fished it out of his back pocket before laughing. Who was she going to text? Lucien? Nesta? And say what?

Hey–I murdered my boyfriend, can you help me clean up my fireplace?

No, Feyre couldn’t involve them in this. She should call the police and tell them what happened. They’d see the bruises and they’d…put her in jail because she’d still killed someone. And what was wrong with her that her first thought was cleaning up the evidence instead of guilt—remorse?

But Feyre knew, as she looked down at him, that eventually one of them was going to die. She’d known it every time he’d struck her, every time his fingers had curled around her throat in anger that one day he wouldn’t stop in time. This felt inevitable and in some ways, she’d made her peace with it long ago.

To be fair, she’d always assumed their roles reversed.

Feyre didn’t know what her plan was. She was moving on autopilot. Leaving her phone on the coffee table, Feyre fished out anything identifying from his jeans before reaching for his ankle. She’d just…drag him, she thought.

She hadn’t realized just how heavy Tamlin was. By the time Feyre got to the front door she was drenched in sweat and she’d left a bloody trail in her wake. She wanted to scream. What was she supposed to do? Burn down her house? Which was worse? She could say she came home and the house was on fire from a lit candle and Tamlin panicked, smashed his head on the fireplace and died.

And she’d go to jail.

Either way, Feyre was going to jail. The thought ought to have sobered her. Tamlin would get the last laugh from hell, containing her in a little cell just like he’d always wanted. So Feyre kept dragging him until she somehow managed to get Tamlin into the trunk of her car. She could practically hear the podcast that would be written about her and her many, many mistakes.

Those who couldn’t do, started podcasts, or however the saying went. She drove in silence, winding her way through the city towards the one place she could be rid of a body. Velaris wasn’t devoid of crime, though it certainly liked to pretend it was. She’d seen all the articles about bodies washing up on the Sidra’s riverbank, of the suspicion people were being dumped from the docks.

Let people think Tamlin had run afoul of the gangs. He certainly loved to gamble—maybe he’d racked up debt. Maybe he’d insulted someone. Feyre could play stupid, could rip up all the floors in her house and pull the carpet out of her trunk, too. Or she’d burn the house down, fake her own death, and start over in Toronto.

A reasonable thing, she told herself as she pulled down the shadiest street she’d ever seen. With the glitter of downtown Velaris fully behind her, the warehouse district seemed…well, the exact sort of place you’d dump a body. Half the streetlights seemed to be broken and not one building had a full set of unbroken windows.

It was here, inhaling the fishy scent of the docks, that reality began to creep in on Feyre. Was she really going to do this? Feyre forced herself out of her car, heart pounding. She was shrouded in darkness now, which made everything feel more ominous somehow.

Like she was being watched by a million surveillance cameras, broadcast live into everyone's homes. Feyre opened the trunk with shaking hands before backing up with a screech.

“You stupid bitch,” Tamlin slurred, stumbling from the trunk. He wasn’t dead and she’d fucked this whole things up. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I—” Throwing you into the river seemed like the wrong response. How had her life come to this, she wondered? When had she become a monumental joke? Tamlin lurched, faster than she’d anticipated. Feyre didn’t move until they were both tumbling to the ground, his hands wrapped around her throat.

“Did you think you could kill me?” he asked, his face so close she could see his hatred burning in the dark. Feyre’s hand slid over the pavement, slicing over something sharp as she searched for anything to get him off her. Feyre was forced to reach for his fingers, trying desperately to pry them off her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and not being able to breathe always made her panic.

“Hey!” a masculine voice yelled from somewhere in the dark. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Tamlin released her with surprise, turning to look at whoever had caught them. Feyre scrambled from beneath him and without considering that she now had an audience, grabbed a chunk of a broken cinder block and slammed it against Tamlin’s jaw. She might have screamed when she hit him—or maybe that was just the sound of her heart.

Tamlin crumpled again, and this time Feyre didn’t stop. Straddling his chest, she hit him again, and again.

And again.

If he was alive, it was hardly a mercy. Feyre looked down at his bloodied, broken face just in time for the overhead street light to finally flicker on. Orange flooded through her vision, causing Feyre to blink. She turned, remembering she had an audience.

Standing over her, his face slack with what she assumed must be shock, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

She took a breath and wiped her bloodied face on the back of her hand. Waiting for his horror, for his panic as he dialed 911.

“Did you…?” he asked, blinking eyes so blue they might have been violet.

She didn’t respond, rising shakily to her feet. The thought of straddling Tamlin’s dead body suddenly made her sick. She didn’t want to look at him—she needed to be far, far away from all of this.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through hair so dark it blended in with the night around him. Licking full lips, he took a breath. “We need to get rid of this.”

Feyre hadn’t expected him to say that. “What?” she asked breathlessly.

“The body,” he said in that rich, sensual tone. “Weigh him down.”

“Are you—”

“You’ve made me your accomplice,” he said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “And no offense, but I’m not going to jail over a man who strangles women.”

Feyre’s fingers curled around her neck, thinking of how bruised she’d be in the morning. The man—tall, she thought, and casual in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a plain black t-shirt that showed off the tattooed curve of his collarbone and powerful biceps, walked around her to peer down at Tamlin.

“How did you get him out here? Drugs?”

Feyre barely remembered. That seemed like hours ago. “I dragged him.”

He raised well-groomed brows. “He looks heavy.”

Feyre wrapped her arms around her body as this stranger dragged out several unbroken cinder blocks from the darkness surrounding them. A lock of his head flopped against his sweaty forehead, half-hiding his eyes. He worked easily, like he had experience, and more importantly, didn’t ask her to help.

Feyre, in return, didn’t ask where he’d found that chain. She merely stood there and watched him attach cinder blocks to Tamlin’s body before he looked up at her.

“Help me?”

He still did most of the work. Grunting through his teeth, they dragged Tamlin to the edge of the docks and with a heave, plopped him into the inky, cold water. There was something so final about the sight of Tamlin’s face vanishing into the depths where, ideally, he would never be found.

The stranger picked at a piece of dirt on his shirt. “Want to get Taco Bell?” Feyre blinked, huffing out a hysterical breath. “Who are you?”

He offered a dazzling smile, so at odds with the crime they’d just committed. “My name is Rhysand, but you, darling, can call me Rhys.”

Rhys.

Her accomplice.

“My name is Feyre.”

He nodded. “C’mon. Let’s get some soft tacos. We’ll need an alibi, right? On me.”

Feyre could only nod. “Right.”

Rhys opened her passenger door with a flourish, hand outstretched for her keys. Feyre handed them wordlessly while Rhys jogged around the back of her little coup, slamming the trunk shut. This was where he’d threaten her, she thought with dread. Blackmail—she’d be trapped with another psycho instead of being free.

“So,” he said, circling away from the docks easily. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the center console. “Are you thinking soft tacos, or—”

“What do you want?” she asked, hoping it was something easy. Money? Sex? A favor he could call in at some later date, ideally when she’d already packed up the area and was untraceable.

“I like a chalupa, usually,” he mused. “But it might be better to get like, twenty soft tacos and bring them back to my place—”

“Your place? What? No, I meant, why are you helping me?”

“It’s hard to kill your…what was he, anyway?”

Feyre drummed her fingers against her knee, her jeans bloodstained and dirty. “Boyfriend.”

“Ah. Well, it’s hard to kill your boyfriend when you broke up with him months ago and have been dating me, right? We were out together, getting tacos, which is a casual, established relationship kind of food, before we went back to my place and had passionate sex for the rest of the night.”

It should have scared her, how casually he said that. There was humor in his voice—like he knew he was being absurd. It wasn’t a proposition, or at least, she didn’t think it was.

“We ah, should probably get our stories straight though,” he added, glancing sideways at her. “Just in case.”

“My house is covered in Tamlin’s blood. The minute the cops show up with a black light, they’ll see it.”

“I know some guys who can help with that,” he offered. “Clean it up, but if you want them to come rip out your flooring, they are quick and discreet.”

“What do you do for a living?” she asked.

“Ah, good question. My girlfriend would know that. I work in finance.”

“Finance,” she repeated suspiciously. “But you know discreet contractors?”

“You should see the parties we hold,” he said with a grin. When she didn’t smile, he softened his expression. “I’m joking. My buddy Cassian runs a business. He’d do it as a favor—no questions asked. Just mop up the blood when you get home, okay? He can have it done in a day or two and you can crash with me. I’ve got a spare bedroom.”

“Why would you help me? I just killed a man, remember?”

“And I helped,” he reminded her, stopping at a light. “We’re in this together now. I’m not going down over a piece of shit strangling his girlfriend on the docks and neither are you. So we’re gonna spend tonight eating tacos and getting our story straight and in the morning, I’m gonna drive you home, help you clean up your place, and bring you back while Cassian gets rid of your floors.”

“And how long will we…?” Feyre didn’t know how to even ask.

Rhys shrugged. “I figure we can keep up appearances for a few months until people stop looking for him.”

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, her hysteria rising again. Rhys’s hand slid to her thigh, squeezing until she took a breath.

“Breathe, Feyre, darling. Everything is going to be okay. That’s a good girl, breathing through your nose. Release it through your mouth. Good…very good. You’re going to be okay.”

She leaned her head back against the seat. “Maybe I should just turn myself in.”

“No,” he said, looking over with those star bright eyes. “You deserve to live, Feyre.”

She didn’t know how to make sense of that.

You deserve to live.

While he pulled into a drive thru and ordered enough food for ten people, Feyre turned his words over and over in her head. She hadn’t been living these last three years. Merely surviving. Constantly walking on eggshells to try and keep Tamlin from getting angry. Doing what he asked, even though it made her miserable. Giving him access to her life, control over the food she ate and the clothes she wore.

And maybe killing him was the wrong response—but it was the first choice Feyre had made without any consideration for his comfort in years. A bad choice—but a choice nonetheless.

Rhys set a hot bag of food on her lap and began driving deep into downtown.

“My place tonight,” he said firmly, with no room for negotiation. “You can shower and sleep, and we can get to know each other.” She nodded.

Rhys wasn’t lying that he had a place downtown, though he’d certainly undersold it. He had on of the brownstones she’d always admired and knew she’d never be able to afford. Made of gorgeous brick she assumed, though his was covered in lush, green ivy that her sister Elain would have adored. Little flowers wove their way through the curling vines, making it seem as if his home was protected by some kind of magic.

Any other day, Feyre might have marveled at the sheer scale and size of his place—tonight, all she wanted was to crawl beneath hot water. His home was decorated beautifully and she wondered if that was his style, or he’d paid someone to do it.

“Use my bathroom,” he offered generously, leading her through his bedroom. She tried not to think of the man in front of her, one hand clutching a greasy bag of tacos and the other on her shoulder, laying on those dark satin sheets. “It’s nicer than the guest one and has the added benefit of having shampoo in it.”

Rhys flashed her an apologetic smile. “I don’t have company often.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” she said, aware of how flirty she sounded. He arched his brow.

“Believe it, darling,” he all but purred in response.

He left her there with nothing but a smirk and a soft, “What’s mine is yours.” His shower was obscene, big enough for the two of them. Water poured from all direction, and for a minute, Feyre could pretend she was here because she’d met him and she genuinely liked him.

But when she closed her eyes, she saw Tamlin hovering over her, his hands wrapped around her throat.

She saw his face disappearing into the water.

Feyre stole Rhys’s fluffy white robe when she was done, padding out into the bedroom where he’d helpfully laid out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of dark boxer shorts—all clean. All things his girlfriend might wear. Feyre put them on before rifling through his drawers for a pair of sweatpants or athletic shorts. She wasn’t going out there like this.

She found gray sweatpants and without wondering what they looked like on him, she cinched them around her small waist and knotted the ties. Good enough. She was comfortable at least.

She padded into his large living room where he’d spread tacos over a glass coffee table. Bottles of water sat on coasters, alongside several different types of beer. It was strangely endearing how he was trying to make this experience palatable.

What would the murder podcasters say about this?

Feyre bet Rhys would have groupies in jail.

He stared when she came in, eyes wide. Feyre was still combing through her hair, wishing she’d nabbed some of his socks, too. “I borrowed your pants. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I ah…” he cleared his throat, looking back at his spread. “Take whatever you like.”

“So,” she began, sitting carefully beside him on his expensive looking couch. “Fake dating?”

He smiled. “That’s right. Let's get our story straight, hm?”

And they did. Feyre slid to the floor to better eat without making a mess while she and Rhys talked. He was easy to talk to, too. He told her about his sister at college and his parents divorce. About college and his friends and how he spent his time. She learned what kind of music he liked, the shows he watched, his favorite movies.

She shared, too. She told him about her sisters and her father’s death. About how she painted and her hopes of making it big one day—big enough to support herself, anyway. How her house had belonged to her father and neither of her sisters wanted it, which was how Feyre had ended up living somewhere without a mortgage or rent.

And, inevitably, to Tamlin. How they’d met, when he’d become mean—how she’d tried and tried to leave and how he’d keep coming over with gifts and threats depending on his mood. How she kept taking him back because it felt inevitable. She couldn’t escape him so why even try?

Rhys just listened, even when she rested her shoulder against his knee.

“I don’t think love is supposed to be so hard,” he finally offered, looking down at her with sympathy that didn’t feel pitying. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I hope you know you didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, trying and failing to take her eyes off of him.

“We should get some sleep,” he finally said. And despite his jokes about a night of passionate sex, he merely showed her to his guest room across the house and told her if she needed anything, to just yell. She fell asleep quickly, sinking into nightmares where Tamlin somehow rose from the dead and found her, dragged her from bed, and forced her to take his place.

Feyre woke to darkness and the sound of someone's voice.

“Feyre?”

Rhys was in the doorway, shirtless in just a pair of athletic shorts. “You were screaming.”

Was she? But she must have been, given how hoarse her voice was. Rhys held the doorway, unmoving though his chest rose and fell rapidly. She could see his tattoos in the warm light from the hall—black whorls of ink decorated the golden brown musculature of his upper torso. Mountains graced his powerful knees.

Could Tamlin get through this man, she wondered? Rhys looked as if every inch of him had been lovingly carved and something about him exuded strength.

“I…” she whispered, scooting from the center of the bed to the side closest to the shaded window. She pulled the blanket back wordlessly, inviting him to join her. He was a stranger—he was her protector. He’d intervened long enough to keep Tamlin from killing her, had brought her home, and asked nothing but that she help him from being implicated in her crime.

He wanted to help her, too. No questions asked.

Here, too, Rhys did not object. He merely joined her, one arm outstretched to gather her against the warmth of his body.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen.”

Feyre believed him.

She’d woken in a strange man’s arms. Somehow, it wasn’t weird. Rhys seemed determined it wouldn’t be, and all of Feyre’s anxiety from the night before had begun to melt away. He seemed wholly unbothered as he ushered her cheerfully out the door, and Rhys got coffee while Feyre waited in his car—not hers.

She asked him only one question when they began to drive to her house. “Do you think I’m a bad person for not feeling guilty?”

He glanced over at her, hand squeezing the thigh he was casually touching. “Why should you feel guilty when the alternative was you?”

And when she didn’t respond, he added. “Do you think he ever felt guilty?”

Feyre bit at chapped lips. “No.”

“Then why should you?”

She thought about that even when they reached the house. Feyre stepped inside, expecting to see trails of blood and broken glass everywhere. In her memory, it all seemed worse. Her phone was still on the coffee table in the living room, and there was some dried blood, but not nearly as bad as she remembered.

Tamlin’s phone was gone.

“Go pack your things,” Rhys said, making his way to her little kitchen. “I’ll deal with this.”

“See if you can find his phone,” she called after him, making her way to the bedroom. They would need that. Stupid, to leave it at her house—though, she had planned to say they’d been together all night and she didn’t know what happened when he left. And Feyre certainly hadn’t considered a stranger would offer to be her pretend boyfriend for an alibi.

Now she needed it, though she didn’t know how she’d explain her phone and his at the same place. One problem at a time, she rationalized.

Feyre zoned out in her bedroom, lost in a flurry of memories and moments in that room. Everything was tainted by Tamlin—good and bad, though mostly bad. Feyre wondered how they’d even gotten there. Things had been so good in the beginning that by the time things weren’t good, she found herself willing to excuse some of it.

A lot of it.

He had a bad childhood. His last girlfriend had been horrible to him. He just needed someone to be kind to him. To show him softness, that he could trust. He was emotionally unavailable, unconcerned with the words coming out of her mouth. He didn’t listen or worse, he dismissed her feelings if he disagreed or disliked them.

And if she pushed too far, he’d lash out. Sometimes he’d just yell, but more and more, it became the back of his hand or the knuckles on his fist that ended the argument. When he was truly enraged, his fingers would curl around her throat, removing her ability to speak at all. Feyre could never figure out what he wanted.

Even then, sitting on the edge of a green and gold bedspread, she wondered what he’d really wanted. Compliance? A doll he could dress up and fuck—that looked at him only with adoration?

Or did he just want someone he could vent his own pain into? He was suffering, so she would have to suffer, too. He wanted her to.

By the time Feyre began pulling clothes from her closet and dressers, she could hear the sound of masculine voices at the door. Curious, she crept down the hall, peering into the living room toward the door.

Rhys had dressed the same today as yesterday, though the midnight purple shirt he’d thrown on clung to his muscular chest and made his biceps all the more prominent. He was holding open her front door to keep whoever was on the porch from seeing in.

“...with you?”

“That’s right,” Rhy purred, his posture utterly relaxed. “Do you need something?”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Green wasn’t at work today and his co-workers called to do a wellness check.”

“He doesn’t live here,” Rhys replied, still casual. How was he so relaxed? Feyre was sweating, was so terrified she thought her heart might come out of her chest.

“His phone last pinged here.”

She saw a smile spread over Rhys’s handsome face. “Feyre was with me all evening—if Tamlin was here, well. I guess he’s back to stalking her, isn’t he?”

More silence. “Stalking?”

“That’s right. Stalking her, hitting her when he gets too close, breaking in…things that, now that I think about it, are crimes. Right, officer?”

Why was he grinning like that? “Is that so, Mr. Moreno?”

He only shrugged. “What do I know about the laws of this fine country? What I do know is that if he was here looking for my lovely Feyre, she was very occupied. As for Tamlin—have you tried the casinos?”

Another voice entered the conversation. Cheerful, like Rhys’s, he called, “Excuse me officers, I’m trying to scoot past you.”

And in stepped the largest man Feyre had ever seen. Handsome, with shoulder length hair that fell in dark waves, hazel eyes set in soft, golden brown skin, and a smile that wouldn’t have been out of place on a billboard ad—with the body of someone who worked out every day of his life, she figured this had to be Cassian.

“Any other questions?” Rhys asked, his eyes bouncing toward his friend.

There was a mumbling of no before Rhys snapped the door shut and Cassian burst out laughing. “You should have told them to call your lawyer.”

“I’m sure Eris would have loved that,”

Cassian turned to the living room, scrubbed mostly clean while Feyre tried to figure out how to announce herself. Cassian whistled softly. “I can have this done in a day.” “

Good,” said Rhys as Feyre loudly took a step. He turned and she appeared, eyebrows raised. Cassian’s smile faded when he saw her, and too late, Feyre remembered she was covered in bruises. She needed to reschedule her show.

“Hey,” Cassian said, his voice devoid of pity, which made her feel better. “I’m Cassian. I ah…heard you wanted some new flooring?”

She nodded. “How much–”

“I got it,” Rhys said just as Cassian added, “No charge.”

Cassian and Rhys looked at the other before Cassian said, “I owe Rhys a favor…or three. Don’t worry about cost. Let’s pick you out some new floors.”

The whole thing was strange and yet Feyre almost didn’t care. She packed and then let Cassian show her different wood samples while another man—Azriel, she learned—came with news he’d put leather interiors in her car before strolling right back out of the house. When she’d asked what he did, Rhys had said IT, and Cassian said mechanic.

Feyre picked dark wood because Cassian said it would make her house easier to sell—and Feyre wanted to be rid of it. He promised her two days tops, and when she asked what would happen with the current wood, he only grinned.

Like he knew exactly why she was asking and wanted her to know she didn’t need to worry. Feyre was tempted, when she got back in Rhys’s car, to just ask him what was going on. To stare him down and demand to know how he was so calm, so unbothered. As they drove back to his place, Rhys told her amusing stories about he, Cassian, and Azriel growing up and Feyre, in turn, talked about her sisters.

She wondered what they’d make of all this. What would they say when they learned that Tamlin was dead and the police were already asking questions? Nesta was a lawyer, but maybe she wouldn’t want to help—maybe it would ruin her reputation.

And Elain was a florist. Surely florists didn’t want to be associated with murderers?

Lucien was the only other friend she had. He, too, was a lawyer and she only knew him because Tamlin had introduced them. She very much doubted she could text him hey I killed your friend, can we talk? Without angering him.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Feyre asked Rhys once they were safely tucked back in his apartment. He was walking to the kitchen, fingers reaching for a pot.

“What?” he asked her, half lost in whatever thoughts slid through his brain.

“That you watched me kill someone.”

His eyes snapped to her face. “Truthfully?”

Her heart raced. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat coated in sandpaper.

Rhys braced his body against the counter, backlit by the golden light of the afternoon filtering through an open kitchen window. “It should have been me—not you, who finished him. I was coming to help, but you…”

There was no revulsion on his face. Only open admiration, and some other emotion she didn’t recognize. Rhys cleared his throat. “You’re dealing with a lot, but I wasn’t totally lying about wanting to eat tacos and do…other…things with you.”

Passionate sex. That was what he’d said. Feyre suppressed a shiver at the thought, remembering how it had felt to wake up with her cheek pressed against his chest.

Rhys turned to fill the pot with water while Feyre wrestled internally with the idea that she was a bad person for wanting to have that with him, too. She hadn’t known him even twenty-four hours. For all she knew, he was just as bad as Tamlin.

Worse, even.

“Have you ever…” Rhys stilled, his back tense at her question. He turned ever so slightly, looking over his shoulder with unreadable eyes.

“Have I ever what, darling?”

Feyre shook her head. “Nothing. I shouldn’t—”

“Killed someone?” he guessed. It was an absurd proposition. Still, Rhys smiled like he’d done when he had been talking to the police, and Feyre knew, without him saying a word, what the answer was.

Yes.

That night, after spending the evening laughing with someone who very well might have been a serial killer, Feyre took the empty guest bedroom again, tempted to ask him to join her. Rhys hadn’t made any overtures and Feyre hadn’t invited him.

Moreno.

She’d heard the cops call him that. With her phone back in her possession, it was easy to google him. Nothing about Rhysand Moreno came up that was unusual. An instagram page that somehow already had pictures of the two of them backdated by four months.

On page two, she found one article about a man named Antonio Moreno who’d gone to jail for tax fraud, and when she clicked it, Feyre was treated to an image of a man that had to be Rhys’s father. They shared those blue-violet eyes and that midnight colored hair. Antonio, she learned, was rumored to be more than just a blue collar criminal—but the head of a powerful crime family.

A murderer, among other things.

That had been ten years ago—Rhys would have been in his early twenties when his father was put behind bars. The article only speculated, as the feds had never been able to prove his father did anything more than not pay his taxes correctly and lied to the IRS.

She set her phone down and replayed every interaction she’d had with him. Rhys, dressed casually for the docks which didn’t seem the sort of place a man with his kind of money and face liked to hang out. He’d know exactly where to find that chain and those blocks, and hadn’t flinched when it came time to dump Tamlin.

He knew a guy in construction and was good friends with a mechanic. And when she’d asked if he’d ever killed someone, Rhys had only been amused by the question. Feyre stood, her heart pounding.

She crossed the dark house for his bedroom. She’d assumed he’d be in it—and she was right about that. When she flung open the door, Rhys was certainly laying on those dark, silken sheets.

Naked.

His cock gripped in one hand, muscular thighs spread apart. He didn’t release himself when he saw her, head turned to look.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice huskier than usual.

“I—” Yes, something was very wrong. A man with his face ought to have an average sized penis at best. Feyre couldn’t drag her eyes from the long, thick erection currently straining beneath one of his already large hands.

Neither of them moved for a moment, waiting for the other to do or say something. She should have knocked and he should have tried to cover himself. Should have at least pretended he was a gentleman. Rhys stroked himself languidly, an invitation if she’d ever seen it.

“Would you like to know what I’m thinking about?” he asked when she remained still and silent. Feyre did—and she needed to know the truth.

“A thought for a thought?” she replied, determined she would have both. He smiled when she closed the door softly behind her.

Rhys stroked himself again.

“Alright. You first, darling.”

“When your father was arrested, did you take over the family business?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Googled me, huh?”

“Did you?”

Rhys slid his free hand behind his head, flexing his bicep ever so slightly. “Yes.”

“And the night on the docks?”

“That’s two questions, Feyre,” he teased, stroking himself again. “But I’ll answer because I think you’re going to crawl into my bed regardless of what I say.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, back still pressed to the door. Rhys finally released himself, but only to sit himself up and swing his powerful legs off the bed.

“Don’t I?”he whispered. “Because I think the only thing keeping you from my bed is your fears that you should be more upset by what you did last night.”

Feyre didn’t move as he approached. “I was at the docks cleaning up a mess when I stumbled upon an angel. I would have done it for you—I would have killed him for putting his hands on you, and I regret I couldn’t do that for you. You can’t figure out why it doesn’t bother me—why would it? When you were the most magnificent thing I had ever seen with that chunk of concrete in your hands? I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think about was your name. I had to know it. And I would have done anything to hear you tell me.” He was towering over her, one hand pressed against the very same door she was.

“Was this all a ploy? To get me here?”

“You can leave,” Rhys told her, lowering his face ever so slightly. “I’m not going to hunt you down. You’re not an animal. And I think you know I’m not going to betray you. If you want to leave and never see me again, consider this our little secret.”

“And what will you consider it?” she asked him breathlessly, her hands twitching at her side. She wanted to touch him so badly she ached from it.

“What will I consider you?” he asked, his voice sultry—so at odds with the contemplation on his face. “The one who got away, my darling Feyre. I’ll console myself with the knowledge that you escaped that man. That your life is one you chose, and not one forced on you.”

“And if I wanted to stay?” she asked, unsure if that was smart. She didn’t know him, though she liked him.

And she wanted to know more about him.

“Then I’m going to put you in my bed and fuck you so throughly you’ll never consider leaving me.”

“Am I safe?” she asked him, raising her hand to press it to his chest. “Swear you won’t hurt me.”

Feyre could feel his pounding heart beneath her palm.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries.” She leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. She intended to feel the rough stubble of his jaw. Rhys smelled like salt and citrus—like a dark night over a cold sea. Rhys turned his face at the very last second, letting her lips collide with his own. And oh. That was much, much better.

His mouth was soft, his hands instantly on her face, tilting her so he might have better access to her. Feyre pressed herself against him, forgetting he’d already been hard when she came in. She could feel him pressed against her hip, all but bruising the bone.

“This was what I was thinking about,” Rhys gasped before those hands slid from her face down her body to cup her ass. She was in the air, legs hooked around his waist in an instant as she dragged her fingers through his dark, thick hair. Rhys devoured her in another kiss, tongue sliding between parted lips for a taste.

“What?” she gasped. Was he talking? Rhys dropped her to the bed and yanked at the pants she was wearing—his sweatpants, which might have been embarrassing had he not been peeling them off her body. Feyre helped, lifting her hips before she tossed her sleep shirt to the floor so she was just as naked as he was.

“This is what I was thinking about,” he repeated, hovering over her until he was between her legs, sitting on his haunches. Rhys ran his hands up and down her thighs, spreading her out inch by inch. “I was wondering what you’d sound like when you came, and how you might taste…how your body would feel gripped around my own.”

“Rhys,” she whispered as he lowered himself to the bed.

“I wondered that too. No one can hear us, darling.”

Rhys was in no hurry, giving some credence to the whole passionate sex all night statement he’d made. His mouth trailed kisses up one of her inner thighs, reaching just where she wanted him before he traded legs, moving down, and then right back up. Feyre squirmed, trying to get him to move up.

Rhys chuckled. “What’s your hurry?”

“Please,” she begged, lifting her hips in invitation.

He groaned softly. “Don’t beg—Just tell me what you want.”

“Put your mouth on me,” she whispered.

Rhys didn’t have to be asked twice. He licked up the center of her and Feyre gasped. Despite having asked for exactly this, she didn’t feel prepared. She wasn’t prepared for how Rhys moaned against, the vibrations settling low in her gut. The hands holding her open currently slid beneath her, pulling her lower half off the bed entirely while spreading her apart.

Rhys went after her like a wild animal—ravenous and desperate, his tongue sliding over her clit before delving into her body, teasing her with what it would be like when he actually fucked her.

She was burning, falling. Feyre’s fingers curled in his sheets, the same she’d admired the night before when she’d walked into his bedroom filthy and soaked in blood. Wholly unaware Rhys was hardly a guardian angel but more like the devil, dragging her down, down, down with him.

If this was damnation, she welcomed it.

Wanted it.

Feyre tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling the strands while pushing his face closer. Rhys let her, his whole world reduced to her pussy, a fact he seemed immensely delighted by. His tongue moved faster, chasing each moan that slipped from her lips until Feyre couldn’t stand it anymore. Maybe it was the stress of the last twenty four hours or maybe it was him and how he seemed to have an expert understanding of her body, but Feyre bowed off the bed and Rhys redoubled his efforts.

It wasn’t necessary. Feyre’s pleasure, once tightly spooled in her body, unraveled quickly. She didn’t mean to scream his name as glittering stars burst through the darkness behind her eyelids. And she certainly didn’t mean to grind her body against his face, hips rolling and making a mess of him. Rhys didn’t stop, his fingers kneading into the supple flesh of her ass cheeks until Feyre was wrung out and too sensitive.

“Rhys, stop, it’s too much—”

He swallowed her protests with his mouth, still wet from her orgasm. His body settled against her own, cock rubbing against her still convulsing flesh.

“You are my salvation, Feyre,” he whispered, forehead pressed to her own. Locks of his dark hair flopped into his eyes, making it seem as if he were half shrouded in shadow. Rhys was a dark prince—what did that make her?

“You’re mine,” he added softly, pushing himself into her body gently. Feyre inhaled sharply, pulling him down by the neck for a kiss. Rhys didn’t stop his invasion though he went slow, as if he knew she needed a second to adjust to the stretch, to the utter fullness of accommodating him. Feyre was adrift in a sea of Rhys, drunk on the scent of him, on the feel of being skin to skin as they shared the same body.

“Feyre,” he panted, swallowing hard. “God Feyre, you…”

Seeing him so at a loss sparked new arousal. Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed beneath his jaw before licking down the side of his neck. It was enough to convince him to move, to withdraw himself to the tip before thrusting himself back into her. He moaned when she involuntarily tightened around him, forming like a second skin against his bare cock.

“Your body, Feyre,” he groaned again, finding a rhythm that was brutal without being painful. Feyre rose to meet him thrust for thrust, losing herself in the way his hands skimmed over her, the way his mouth kissed her.

Feyre raked her nails down her back, sharp enough she was sure she must have drawn blood. Rhys all but whimpered, his pace quickening. She wanted to see him undone, wanted to make him fall apart.

An arduous task, giving her own pleasure currently rising through her. “I need to feel you come,” he panted, like she hadn’t already done so on his tongue. “Come on my cock, Feyre, darling,” he moaned, the words half pulled from his throat with what seemed like great effort.

One of his hands slid between their bodies, finding her clit and rubbing with inelegant, yet effective strokes.

“Rhys—”

“Be my good girl,” he whispered, teeth nipping at her earlobe. “Come for me, Feyre, please—”And she did, like a puppet controlled by strings. Rhys did, too, and she wondered if he would have even if she hadn’t, or he would have held himself back. Rhys had gone tight, almost rigid as his precise rhythm gave way to mindless thrusting, desperate to get closer, to fuck her deeper.

Feyre pulled him close, letting them both ride through their combined release as one. Rhys buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing and whispering her name like it was a prayer to his personal god.

“Give me a minute,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“For what?”

“To have you again. I need to catch my breath,” he said with a grin. “I seem to recall I promised you all night.”

“I might need more than five minutes,” she said weakly.

Rhys kissed her again. “Take all the time you need.”

One year later:

Rhys flopped on the bed he shared with his girlfriend—wife—head spinning from champagne. She came with him, in part because his hand was wrapped around her waist, and partly because she, too, had a little too much to drink at their wedding reception.

“Wife,” Rhys said with a breathless laugh.

“You keep saying that,” Feyre teased, poking him in the ribs. “Did you just realize that’s what happens when you get married?”

“I keep waiting for you to change your mind,” he admitted, rolling to his side to look at her. She was a vision in white, her dress tight through her abdomen before flaring out around her legs. Her hair was pinned around her face, but a night of dancing and laughing had softened the pearl pins, allowing tendrils of that golden brown hair to escape and frame her pretty, freckled face.

“You’re stuck with me now,” she said, opening silvery blue eyes to look up at him. “And it’s too late for cold feet.”

Rhys laughed, then. Lowering himself for a kiss of gloss stained lips, he said, “I’d have married you the night I met you if you weren’t so freaked out.”

Feyre only smiled, pushing herself up to kick off her heels. “So you like to remind me.”

Rhys followed behind her as she sashayed through the room, fingers itching to touch her.

“You were very patient,” she added, her praise warming him.

“I was, wasn’t I?” Rhys laughed again, because he’d been anything but patient. He’d gone to his mother for the family ring a month after meeting Feyre and had spent five months walking around with it in his pocket, waiting for the right moment while simultaneously talking himself both in and out of asking. She’d think he was crazy. She’d leave him any minute just as soon as she realized what a wreck he was.

She’d married him only five hours earlier, binding herself to him with two simple words.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you were really doing that night?” Feyre asked, pulling one of his shirts from a wooden hanger in the closet. In the morning they’d be off to the airport to spend two weeks alone on a private beach where Rhys intended to fuck her every which way. Tonight, too, just as soon as his head stopped spinning.

“I was looking for you,” he recited, just as he always did. Feyre offered him an exasperated look.

Fiddling with his cuffs, Rhys said, “I was looking for you—and I knew the minute I saw you. That night one of the alarms at one of our warehouses went off. I was nearby so I went to turn it off before the cops decided to poke around. I was parked a couple blocks down since the feds still like to follow me around—as you well know. I was heading back when I found you, bashing in the face of someone already on my list.”

Feyre’s fingers slipped from the zipper on her dress. “Your list?”

She was well acquainted with his list. Though Feyre wasn’t involved in his business, a practical consideration given Rhys wanted children and a family and it was hard to raise children if both parents ended up in jail. His father had taught him that. Not that Rhys would ever find himself in jail given how close he and new mayor Eris Vanserra were.

And he paid his taxes, as illegitimate as they were. He wasn’t going to waste time behind bars when he could be with his wife.

“Yes, darling,” he agreed, tugging the zipper the rest of the way down. He wanted to see her in his shirt. “If I had known he had you, I would have moved a little faster.”

Feyre knew better to ask if anyone had come looking for Tamlin. He had no friends, no family. The police had done a half-hearted investigation given he paid far better than the city did so he could conduct business without their interference. They concluded he’d likely skipped town to avoid his debts, and if they ever found him, well…Tamlin owed more than Rhys money.

“You would have lost your chance to buy me tacos—and make a dramatic entrance,” she reminded him, allowing his hands to skim over her bare shoulders.

“I have no regrets,” Rhys informed her. “Other than he hurt you.”

“I don’t want to talk about him on our wedding night,” Feyre chided. “A thought for a thought?”

Rhys nodded as her dress pooled at her feet. Fuck fuck fuck he was so wrecked at the sight of her in those black lacy scraps she’d clearly chosen in the hopes of driving him to his knees. Feyre turned, letting him see the way her thong slid between her perfect ass cheeks, bending for the shirt she’d dropped.

“What?”

“A thought for a thought,” she repeated, obviously amused. Rhys nodded, watching as she shrugged into his oversized shirt with a pounding heart.

“I’m thinking I want to rip you out of that shirt,” Rhys told her, letting himself sink to his knees while Feyre smiled. She was so delighted by his antics, and Rhys liked bathing in the light of her pleasure. Feyre’s fingers were quick on the buttons before she came to him, letting him gather her in his arms and press his face against her stomach.

“I’m thinking I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m thinking I’m glad you found me that night—and I’m thinking that I’m so in love with you I feel like I might come out of my skin.” Rhys looked up at her, sighing softly when her fingers slid through his hair, scratching against his scalp.

“You are my salvation, Feyre,” he whispered, certain she didn’t believe him. Rhys was content to spend the rest of his life proving it to her. “And if I had to wait five hundred years for you, I would have done it-gladly. I love you."

And he did.

#feysand #feysand fic #feyre archeron #rhysand #i want to be praised for my humor

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the-shadowsingers-whore · 7 months

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~the inner circle when you call them from the police station~

pairing: acotar inner circle x gn!reader

genre: fluff, headcanon

length: 554

warnings: getting arrested, jail, profanity

disclaimer: this in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

rhysand

he’s going to come and immediately pick you up. he will seem super sweet and defensive while he’s filling out the paperwork, letting everyone know that he “has no clue how this happened” and that “there must be some sort of misunderstanding.” but, the second you leave the police station he’s going full high lord mode and low key lecturing you. like “should we talk about why you got arrested?” you’re going to be hearing about it the entire way home and then for the next few days as well.

feyre

she's immediately dropping whatever she was doing to come and get you. she's so reassuring the whole time saying things like "i'm sure it's not your fault" (it definitely was) and "i'm sorry it took me so long to get here, i know how horrible being locked in a cell is." she's got snacks and water for the way back and she' immediately draws you a relaxing bath the second you get home. literally the best person to have bail you out.

cassian

you’re not calling him from the police station, because he’s most definitely there with you. you two are always doing dumb shit together and getting in trouble for it. the amount of phone calls that rhysand gets from the two of you is unreal. after a while he just starts leaving the two of you there for the night, because he’s so sick of dealing with your antics. you’re there so much that the two of you develop a sort of “personal routine for jail.” the guards are low key your friends and hang out with you on the nights rhysand decides to leave you there to “think about what you’ve done”.

azriel

you wouldn’t have to explain anything, literally just tell him you got arrested, and he is going to show up and bail you out, no questions asked. he never says a word on the way home, not at all worried about why he had to go to the police station at 3 am. he always ends up finding out why you got arrested though because the silence drives you crazy and you end up just blurting it out.

mor

this is a regular event for you two. she is always down to have a good time no matter the consequences, and you like to see what you can get away with, so the two of you are constantly getting arrested for stupid shit. but, unlike with cassian, one of you is always the “designated responsible person.” that way when one of you inevitably gets arrested during a crazy night out, there is always someone to come bail you out. at this point, it’s a very quick process and only a minor inconvenience for your nightly shenanigans when one of you gets arrested.

amren

good luck getting out of jail if you decide to waste your phone call on amren because she never answers her phone. she literally keeps it in a drawer in her house because she doesn't want to have to talk to people. the only way she's going to be bailing you out of jail is if she just so happens to be there when you get arrested. but she will be reminding you the entire time just how much of an inconvenience it is.

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strawbrerian-writes · 11 months

Text

To the Ends of the Earth

for @elucienweekofficial

This prompt gave me the idea for a multi chapter story. Which considering it isn't all written, I'm only posting the prologue today for Elucien week. Enjoy!

Chapter: Prologue / ?

Summary:

The annual Archeron Sister Holiday is a sweet bonding tradition where one sister organizes the vacation and the other two follow along, or suffer the consequences.

Elain has had a rough year and no one expects her to agree to a two week backpacking trip deep in Illyrian backcountry. She’s going for it though. Maybe the hot thru-hiker on his way to the mountain top will make it all worth it?

Elain was done.

She’d spent the last ten days in the Illyrian wilderness with no cell service and no shower. She’d peed on her own shoes more times than she could count. She’d walked headfirst into an unholy amount of spider webs, slept on the cold hard ground, and wiped her ass with a pinecone in a moment of pure desperation.

Her feet were blistered. Her body ached in places she didn’t know she had. And she was hungry.

She was so fucking hungry.

“Elain…Elain get over here,” Lucien urged from somewhere behind her. “Please. I need you to get over here. Right now.”

His voice was low and level, as they were just having a conversation about the weather. He was panicking, though. She could hear it.

She couldn’t say she blamed him. Lucien was in the prime of his life. He was happy. He hadn’t been cheated on publicly. He didn’t have to watch his sisters flit around in their perfect, happy lives with their perfect, happy husbands.

Better yet, Lucien didn’t have sisters.

Lucien had a life. A nice, stable job in the city waiting for him when he got home. Friends who loved him dearly enough to join him on this crazy adventure.

“Elain, baby, please,” he pleaded. She didn’t dare turn to look at him. Just like he didn’t dare try to move towards her.

Maybe it was the whine in his voice, betraying just how scared he really was. Maybe it was the way he called her baby like he’d been saying it all their lives.

Maybe Elain had just had enough of the universe shitting on her.

She refused to move. She dug her feet in the soft dirt. She dropped her pack with a quiet thud, as if the earth itself swallowed the sound.

Elain stared at the bear.

The bear stared at Elain.

She wasn’t sure which one of them was dirtiest. Which one looked the most feral. She did know that only one of them was baring their teeth and roaring.

And it wasn’t the bear.

***

Three Weeks Earlier

“Cass and I went …. thing … year,” Nesta’s voice crackled through the phone. Elain quirked a brow at the phone resting on her desk, as if she could see through to her sister on the other end. She readjusted her earbud, knowing full well that it was unlikely to be a connection issue on her part.

“Your reception is shit, Nesta,” Feyre piped in.

She wasn’t wrong. Nesta was always on the move, and lately in remote locations with sparse signal.

“Hol…” the phone crackled again. Elain could hear Feyre sigh, a baby laughing in the background.

“How’s mom life?” she asked her little sister while playing with the settings on her design program. The layout for her current landscaping project was pulled up on her tablet. She’d been working on it for the last four hours, head down and nose scrunched. She wanted it to be perfect, with just the right amount of greenery and color, but no matter what she did she couldn’t seem to get it quite the way she’d envisioned. Holy shit, she needed a break.

“Holy shit, I need a break,” Feyre moaned, echoing Elain’s thoughts.

Well, how about that.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mom, but it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve done something just for me,” she admitted a little wistfully. Elain could hear it in her voice.

“What about your studio? Are you not painting anymore?”

“No, I still go. Nyx comes with me,” Feyre paused for a moment before continuing so low Elain had to strain to hear her. “I take him with me everywhere. Even to the bathroom, Elain. And before you start, Rhys takes him the second he gets home. He loves him so much and is desperate to spend any time with him at all. But…then I’m cleaning, or doing laundry, or finishing up projects for work, or …”

Feyre trailed off. Elain waited for her sister to continue, but she didn’t. “Have you thought about hiring a housekeeper?”

Feyre groaned. “Have you been talking to Rhys?”

“He’s worried about you, Fey,” Elain admitted sheepishly. She had talked to Rhys, just last night in fact. He’d begged her to try to talk Feyre into hiring some kind of help: a housekeeper, an assistant, an occasional sitter. It was a surreal experience for Elain. Rhysand Nightingale does not beg. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“I’m gonna punch him,” Feyre hissed into the phone. Elain could hear Nyx squeal in the background over something, and his mother gently cooing back. Feyre was back with a loud sigh. “I don’t want someone in my house going through my things, Elain.”

“Do you think Rhysand is actually going to let someone around you or that baby without being thoroughly vetted? The man is overprotective to a fault,” she snorted. Rhysand had, according to his brothers, always been a bit fanatical about the security of his family. It only got worse when Feyre told him they were expecting. “Remember when you first got pregnant?”

“He locked Nesta out of the house for three months,” Feyre giggled at the memory.

“Bastard didn’t want the ‘evil’ to rub off on the fetus,” Nesta broke back in, voice clear as a bell. Elain had to cover her mouth to keep the laughter in.

Feyre didn’t. She bellowed into the speaker. “Perfect timing Nesta.”

“Always,” she stated. “Anyway, I heard less than half of whatever bullshit you were saying, but I’m siding with Elain. Don Rhysand is rabid about safety.”

“Nesta!”

“What?”

“My husband is not a mafia crime lord!” Feyre all but screamed into the phone.

Elain shook her head. This was a common argument in their family, especially from Nesta. She’d never understand the relationship between Nesta and Rhys. They were mortal enemies and great friends all in the same breath.

“Remind me, Feyre honey, what does your husband do for work again?” Nesta asked like she didn’t already know the answer. She just liked getting a rise out of Feyre.

“He’s…got a lot of different irons in the fire Nesta,” Feyre started hedging.

Nesta cut in and started arguing, but Elain tuned them out. Feyre used to be the one to needle Nesta about everything, but after she married Rhys after only knowing him for four months, Nesta considered it open season on her little sister. She’d learned the best way to deal with their arguments was to just ignore them.

Honestly, Elain wasn’t even sure what Rhysand’s job was. It was something vaguely government or military related. All Elain really knew was that he was from old money, and he’d been left enough he didn’t have to work again a day in his life. He’d told her he genuinely enjoyed helping others.

What he actually did though? A total mystery to her.

“Elain are you even listening?” Nesta broke her reverie.

“Huh? What? Oh no…you guys get going about that and I just tune you out,” she admitted.

“How rude!”

“Bitch!”

“Language Nesta! There are little ears present!”

“That’s entirely on you for putting me on speaker.”

“It’s like talking to Cassian.”

Oh, how Elain loved her sisters.

“AS I WAS SAYING,” Nesta shouted into the phone. “Elain, are you a go for meeting at Outfitters for the last minutes tomorrow or what?”

“Nesta, just pick something else. Little Fawn’s not up for this,” Feyre sounded exasperated, using the nickname their mother gave her when they were younger. She could hear crashing on her end of the phone, followed by a muffled warning to ‘stop that you little sh—angel’.

Elain tried to brush it off. They only ever called her that when they thought she was too fragile for whatever they had planned. She knew Feyre was preoccupied with Nyx, and that it was likely a slip of the tongue.

It still pissed her off.

Once a year since their parents died, the three Archeron sisters would meet up and take a two week-long holiday together. They’d draw straws for who got to organize the trip, and the other two would have to go along or suffer the consequences.

They were kids when they set the rules, but they each cut their hand with a kitchen knife and sealed it like an oath in blood. Whoever backed out must get a tattoo of the dealer’s choice, wherever the dealer chooses — faces excluded.

The last trip was Elain’s choice. She’d picked a cruise. She’d thought it was a good idea, knowing how much they’d all talked about swimming with dolphins off the coast of Adriata. However, she forgot that Nesta had a borderline irrational fear of cruise ships. Nesta said nothing. She endured the entire time on the ship in her room, with a drink in hand.

And she’d plotted her revenge.

Though she couldn’t prove it, Elain was sure Nesta rigged the drawing this year. Immediately after winning, Nesta announced they’d be hiking the Illyrian Wilderness leg of the Prythian Trail. 100 miles of rocky ascent to the base of Ramiel, the towering giant of the Night Province.

Feyre, who had spent ninety percent of her life in backcountry hunting, painting, or photographing wildlife, loved the idea immediately.

Elain was wary, but she wasn’t backing out. If she knew her older sister, and mother’s tits she truly did, then Nesta had something truly heinous planned for her tattoo. She was the only one still unmarked. She planned to stay that way.

“No! it’s fine Feyre! Really, I’m excited for it! And yes Nesta, I’ll be there,” she chirped, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt.

Feyre was wrong.

Elain was up for it. She loved hiking. Her and Graysen would go camping along the trails near their home in Wall all the time before he…well, before.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t fit either. She had the gear – a Kelty Coyote 65, not the much more expensive one that Nesta insisted on, but a comfortable and affordable option all the same. She’d even spent every single day looking like an idiot at the gym on a stairmaster with a fully loaded pack on to prepare for what all the guides called a high strenuous uphill hike.

There were a lot of things she didn’t like about the idea of two full weeks in the backcountry with barely any signal. The lack of good food, of toiletries or showers definitely being up there. But she wasn’t going to give them any more reason to call her Little Fawn.

“Elain we can –”

“I’ve got it,” Elain interrupted stubbornly. “I’ll be there.”

#acotar #elain archeron #elucien #lucien vanserra #elucienweek2023 #prompt: nature

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thewayshedreamed · 2 years

Text

Not Even at All, Part 5

Nessian High School AU Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You

> NEAA masterlist

a/n: Surprise! Not sure what go into me this weekend, but the inspiration hit for this one, so here she is. Things are heating up soon with Nessian, so stay tuned! POVs: Nesta, Cassian, Rhysand, Feyre

Warning(s): strong language, suggestions of underage drinking

——————————————————————————

[ Nesta ]

The tone of her father’s voice brokered no room for speculation when he called Nesta downstairs. The Springs had contacted him, no doubt, to notify him of the horrendous offense that was her assault on Tamlin’s car. In her opinion, the grandness of the whole ordeal proved her point in that most of her classmates were far too self-important.

Tamlin Spring, the most of all.

Mr. Archeron paced back and forth, wearing a path in the living room rug.

“Look, Nesta, my insurance doesn’t cover PMS,” he sneered, gesturing with his hands.

Nesta massaged her temples with her fingers, choking the urge to scream at her father that PMS had nothing to do with it. In fact, PMS was preferable to having to deal with Tamlin on any given day, and furthermore, she had no interest in thoughtless anecdotes that used menstrual cycles to invalidate someone’s emotions. The high ground wasn’t hers, so she tucked it away for another day.

“Well, tell them something happened. Like, maybe I passed out from low blood sugar or had a seizure. They won’t know the difference.”

His feet froze in the center of the carpet, his eyes cutting to hers with contempt and warning. “Is this about Prythian U? Are you punishing me for asking you to stay close to home?”

Nesta saw red. Her lower back broke out in a sweat, but she crossed her arms and offered her most unaffected stare. “Are you not keeping me in some safe little box just because mom died?”

He blinked, and Nesta almost regretted the hurt that flashed across his face. He schooled it before she got a true chance. “Leave her out of this,” he ordered, his voice low.

Nesta dropped her arms, her hands slapping against her thighs and leaving a stinging sensation in their wake. “Stop making my decisions for me, then!”

“I am your father,” he gritted. “I have that right.”

“So, what I want doesn’t matter?”

Mr. Archeron slid his eyes shut and took a slow, measured breath. “Nesta, you are 18 years old. You have no idea what you want— not really. And you likely won’t know what you want until you’re at least 45. By then, even if you get it, you’ll be too old to appreciate it.”

Too much to unpack in those few statements, Nesta mused. Something told her he was only half-talking about Nesta, and the thought both saddened and infuriated her.

“I want to go to Prythian University— I’ve known it for years! I want you to trust me to make my own decisions, for once. And I want you to stop trying to control every single aspect of my life just because yours isn’t what you thought it would be! You can’t bring her back by keeping me under your thumb.”

Guilt for the minor offense hadn’t been enough to keep her from going for the jugular, apparently. Her rage was a creature of its own at times, and she wasn’t sure why it was always so bloodthirsty. Bringing her mother into the equation was a low blow even at her most angry, but she couldn’t take it back.

Clenching his jaw, he said, “Well, you want to know what I want?”

No, no she didn’t. Not at the moment, and not if her father held the same propensity for finding someone’s weak spot as she did. So rarely did Nesta provoke her father to that point. Most of the time, indifference took over before she dared to go so far, but this was her life and her future. Someone had to fight for it.

His cell blared through the short silence. Nesta’s shoulders drooped as he barked a hello into the phone and listened to whomever called. Without a goodbye, he lowered it and smashed his thumb over the screen to hang-up.

“I have to go,” he grunted, already walking away. “We’ll finish this later.”

Nesta felt her mouth tug into a sardonic kind of smile. “Can’t wait!” she called after him.

Turning to make her way toward the stairs, she nearly ran straight into Feyre. Her youngest sister was flustered, moving with such purpose that she had to blink to orient to who stood in front of her. Nesta didn’t miss her stormy expression, though. If anyone saw it on her youngest sister’s face most often, it was Nesta.

Her tone was loud, shrill. “Did you seriously just ram into Tamlin’s car?”

Nesta huffed an unimpressed laugh. Of course, that’s what her temper was about, some ridiculous bro like Tamlin Spring. If Feyre knew half of what Nesta knew about the prick, she wouldn’t dare be so affected. “I did. Looks like you’ll be taking the bus home from school, I guess. Sorry for your hardship.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Feyre, who turned a deeper shade of red at Nesta’s dismissal of what was clearly a major issue. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

She didn’t bother with a response. Feyre— and everyone else, for that matter— was going to make her own conclusions about the soundness of Nesta’s mental faculties. Best to leave her to it. She pivoted away and started up the stairs two at a time. Only Feyre’s desperate call for their father followed her.

—

[ Cassian ]

Textbooks shouldn’t have been heavy enough to aggravate Cassian’s sore muscles. Yet, as he lifted each one to his locker, he cringed through the motion.

In previous years, his soreness would have been the result of two-a-day practices or a particularly brutal endurance training session with his team mates. That was before he’d left Velaris High the year prior, before his mother died and his life had changed indefinitely. Aching from lugging crates of heavy bottles around and sleeping on a mattress far past its prime each night wasn’t glamorous, but things could have been much worse. He tried not to be bitter at his circumstances and stay grateful that he had a decent job in the first place. He didn’t have another choice.

Cassian closed his locker and turned, only to come face-to-face with Tamlin. He seemed to be everywhere as of late, but Cassian only had himself to blame for that small fact. It didn’t make Tamlin anymore palatable, unfortunately.

“When I gave you fifty dollars, Enalius, I expected results.”

Cassian leaned back against his locker and tilted his head back against the cool metal. “Already on it,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Tamlin.

“Watching her fuck up my car doesn’t count as a date.”

Tamlin’s challenge was clear, but it wasn’t his best move. Cassian crossed his arms and balled his hands into fists to avoid showing his irritation at Tamlin’s disapproving tone. To be fair, he probably knew Nesta better than Cassian did, but he didn’t get to act like a prick and be a victim of her at the same time.

“If you don’t get any, I don’t get any either.” Cassian blinked, a little in disbelief that Tamlin dropped all pretense of honor. “Let’s get it done.”

With a friendly clap to Cassian’s shoulder, he turned to walk away. The words left Cassian’s mouth before he could think better of it. “I just upped my price.”

“You what?” He turned, not bothering to hide his sneer.

“It’s 100 bucks per date, in advance.”

If Tamlin fucking Spring was going to make it his mission to talk shit about Nesta at every turn, even while trying to shoot his shot with her little sister, Cassian wasn’t going to bother with subpar dates. The least he could do is make sure she enjoyed herself instead of wasting her time with a bunch of rom-coms at the local theater. One or two movie dates was okay, but Nesta wasn’t the kind of girl to bother with that arrangement long-term. He’d interacted with her enough to know that much, at least.

Tamlin scoffed. “No, forget it.”

“Forget dating her sister, then.”

The two of them stood in tense silence for several seconds until Cassian saw Tamlin’s resolve falter. With a sigh, he plucked his wallet from his back pocket and started thumbing through his cash.

He slapped several bills into Cassian’s palm and said, “You better be as smooth as you think you are.”

Cassian gave him a full grin and wrapped his fingers around the money. Without another word, he pushed off his locker and left Tamlin’s scowl behind him. He had bigger shit to deal with before he went to work that night. Tamlin and his fragile ego didn’t even scratch the bottom of that list.

—

[ Cassian ]

Of all his classes, Cassian genuinely enjoyed shop. He didn’t have any classes he hated, really, but shop allowed him some time to get out of his own head for a bit. The opportunities to move around and work with his hands distracted him enough from his life to imagine that he was an average senior with the world at his feet. Maybe he had a study group for later that afternoon to prep for his university entrance exams. Or, he had varsity soccer practice later that afternoon and needed to finish up this shop final beforehand so he could have dinner with his friends.

That train of thought derailed quickly. He hadn’t spoken to a single teammate in almost two years.

Voices sounded from nearby, hushed and a little tense. Cassian ignored them and kept working through the measurements in front of him. He was in enough business that wasn’t his as of late.

“Go,” one voice insisted, seemingly closer than before.

“No, you go talk to him.”

“I had to talk to him the first time.”

Cassian slid his eyes over and realized why the voices sounded familiar. The same guys that had approached him before were nearby, their eyes darting back and forth to Cassian as if he had a gun pointed toward them. He thought he’d been pretty clear about his interest in speaking to them the last time they approached him while he was busy in class, but apparently not. Making it easy on them didn’t appeal to him either, so he lined up the piece of wood he’d measured and started making the initial cuts.

The saw did its job in drowning out any other sounds. For a moment, he could delude himself into thinking the two had walked away without daring to talk to him. With another sideways glance, he realized he had no such luck. Incredibly, the two of them were standing at his station, eliminating any guesswork around who they’d been bickering about.

The more eager-looking of the two addressed Cassian once the saw quieted down. “We know what you’re doing,” he blurted. “With Nesta Archeron.”

Cassian slid his safety goggles into his unruly hair and stood to his full height. Both guys leaned away as if they wanted to take a step back but were hellbent on standing their ground.

“Yeah? And what do you plan to do about it?” Cassian challenged, lifting an eyebrow to drive home how unimpressed he was with the conversation. It was enough to ruffle the guy’s feathers, he noticed.

He squared his shoulders, an incredulous expression on his face. “We want to help you, that’s what.”

Interesting. For half a second he’d wondered if he was talking to a couple of Tamlin’s cronies.

Leaning his hip against the work table, he asked, “And why would you do that?”

A heavy exhale was the only response Cassian got initially, but with the way he squared his shoulders, he assumed there was more to follow. Before he could say anything, the other put a hand on his shoulder and addressed Cassian in his stead. His face was familiar, and Cassian remembered him from his earlier years in school. Azriel was his name; Illyrian, like Cassian. He supposed that’s why he recognized him.

“Well, Rhys here has it bad for the youngest Archeron, Feyre.” His tone was almost bored, but his mouth twitched at the corner as if suppressing his amusement.

The guy who initially walked over— Rhys, apparently— snapped his attention to the side of Azriel’s head. If looks could kill, he imagined that Azriel would be in a world of hurt for revealing his motivations. Cassian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He’d grown weary of hearing about the same girl.

“What is with her, anyway?” he asked, turning his attention to his work. “She have beer-flavored nipples or something?”

A small sound, almost a growl, came from Rhys. His reaction made Cassian want to smile. There was no cause for concern on his front. Azriel spoke again as their self-appointed mediator.

“Rhys’ love for Feyre is quite pure, actually,” he said, looking at his friend. His tone turned teasing when he finished, “It’s almost sweet.”

Another sound of annoyance from Rhys echoed in the small space. “Gods, it’s not—”

“His intentions are better than Tamlin Spring’s,” Azriel interrupted, sliding his assessing gaze to Cassian.

He let out a long, slow breath. “Look, I only got involved for the money.” Because I need the money. He wouldn’t dare share that aloud. “Tamlin can sleep with whoever he wants.”

Rhys took a small step forward, but he stopped short when Cassian’s attention snapped quickly to him. Impressively, he stood his ground and squared his shoulders. “No one is sleeping with anyone.”

“Look, Cassian… Cass,” Azriel began. Cassian shot him a look meant to communicate that they were nowhere near Cass terms, and Azriel nodded his head in silent agreement. “To tell you the truth, we’re the two that set this up. We talked Tamlin into, uhh—” He gripped the back of his neck. “—funding this whole thing. He’s just a pawn in the whole thing, really.”

Cassian’s lips twitched despite his efforts against it. “Ah, so you two plan to help me tame the ice queen, then?”

“We’ll look into her, give you some intel on her interests. Whatever you need, you got it.”

Rhys’ eyes rounded when they made contact with Cassian. “Within reason, obviously.”

The new kid had heard at least some of the rumors about him, then. Azriel’s tense shoulders confirmed the suspicion.

“We can start now, actually. Eris Vanserra is having a party at his house on Friday night. It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“For?”

Cassian wasn’t totally clueless, but he was no more interested in making the situation easy on the two than he was initially. Some twisted part of him got way too much amusement from watching them squirm, questions dancing in their eyes about what rumors about him were true or untrue.

“Taking Nesta out. On a date,” Azriel hedged, his voice full of questions.

“I’ll think about it,” Cassian said with a shrug.

Deciding he had entertained enough of the conversation, he turned on his heel and walked away. The project wasn’t going to finish itself.

—

[ Rhysand ]

His head was swimming after the conversation with Cassian Enalius. He had been more accommodating the second time around and heard them out, at least. Considering the numerous rumors Rhys had heard about the guy in his short time at Velaris High, it felt like a win to have a civil conversation.

Something about Cassian was different than he’d expected, though. He wasn’t overtly unfriendly, even when his words were curt. At times, sparks of amusement would fly across his face, and Rhys stayed somewhere between relief and annoyed depending on what they’d said to put them there.

He had left the conversation knowing almost less about Cassian than before, but at least he seemed open to dating Nesta. That was more than they could say for basically anyone else. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been a comfort considering that could be due to the things Cassian had seen over the course of his life.

Whatever. He was going to lean into the positives if it meant he had better odds of dating Feyre.

“Hey,” he said to Azriel, a thought occurring to him suddenly. “How did you know about Eris having a party this Friday?”

Azriel stepped off to the side of the courtyard and pulled his backpack around to the front. He unzipped it quickly and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from inside, holding it up for Rhysand to read.

“These were passed around the Academic Decathlon team,” he said, a bit of vengeance in his expression. “I haven’t been shunned by all of them, despite what Eris thinks.”

Rhys glanced at the concrete beneath his shoes and kicked a small rock away from them. “That’s cool, Az, but I don’t know that sending Cassian Enalius and Nesta Archeron to a private AD party is the move.”

A cool laugh flowed from his friend, and Rhys broke out into goosebumps again at such a menacing side of his friend. On Rhys’ first day at Velaris High, Azriel had promised revenge on Eris and the others. Apparently, that started as soon as possible.

“Agreed.” He shoved the crumpled sheet of paper at Rhys and dug into his backpack again. Rhysand got the impression it was full of secrets. “Which is why we have these.”

A stack of crisp sheets of paper was shoved into his hands. The original party invitation had been modified with several key details. What was originally meant to be a small, quaint affair with wine and cheese was now a full-blown party offering free beer and open to any student at their school. What Rhys assumed was the Vanserras’ address was left unchanged at the bottom of the flyer, with a note added nearby that guests could show up whenever they wanted.

Azriel’s voice interrupted his quiet appraisal. “Help me pass these out?”

Rhys didn’t fight a smile at Azriel’s cleverness. This could blow up spectacularly in their faces, but doing nothing meant his chances to date Feyre deteriorated by the minute.

“Consider it done.”

—

[ Feyre ]

“I need your opinion on something,” Tamlin said, leaning against his open locker.

Feyre had bumped into him at the end of their lunch period and took it as a decent sign that Nesta hadn’t completely sabotaged her when Tamlin waved her over. It was hard enough making friends in high school, especially as the youngest of three sisters. Everyone had expectations before meeting her, and because most people knew how strict their father was, having guy friends was even more of a long shot.

“Sure.”

She leaned against an adjacent locker, returning Tamlin’s smile. It was almost impossible to ignore how handsome he was, especially leaning so close and his scent wrapping around her. That, paired with his clear satisfaction with her attention, was a heady combination.

“This is important, alright? These will be official throughout Dad’s campaign.”

He plucked two large photos from his locker and held them up, facing Feyre. Both were professional-looking headshots of Tamlin, nearly identical, but he wore slightly different shirts in each. If she was being honest, a coin flip would have been an equally valid way to make the selection. Rather than be rude or dismissive, she schooled her features and assessed both pictures.

His green eyes scanned her face for any hints to her preference, and Feyre hoped she’d hidden that she’d zoned out for a few seconds while considering the options. An Illyrian quiz she had the following morning was monopolizing most of her attention over the past couple of days, and she grew more anxious by the hour. She was ready to get it over with, especially after her tutoring session with Rhysand that morning. He seemed to believe she was beyond ready, and she wanted to pass, if only to prove him right about her. She shook her head to re-orient to the present.

“I think I like this one best,” she murmured, pinching the bottom corner between her thumb and forefinger.

Tamlin beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. The deep purple of your shirt compliments your eyes.”

Gods, why had she said that? The last thing Tamlin wanted to do was listen to her rattle off complimentary colors, how the warm undertones of his shirt made his eyes and hair stand out in the photo. The other picture was fine, too, but she couldn’t help but notice the boost the color gave him.

“Cool,” Tamlin said, his throat bobbing with what looked like nerves. Either that, or Feyre was boring him to the point that he couldn’t figure out a way out of the conversation. “This one it is.”

His smile was soft, kind. It wasn’t the usually cocksure smirk she was used to seeing on Tamlin’s face, and it suited him. He placed the photos in the locker and closed it, leaning on his shoulder to mirror Feyre’s position.

“So, you planning to go to Eris Vanserra’s thing on Friday?”

Feyre blinked. She hadn’t heard anything about the party, not yet anyway. It was all she could manage to survive her looming quiz, so she supposed if she passed it, a party would be a worthwhile celebration. A smile played at her lips, but she quickly smothered it. There was no way Nesta would agree to go to that on her behalf, not after the last week of tension in their house. Plus, she hated most of the people at their school.

Despite all the barriers, she swore she saw a hint of hope on Tamlin’s face, and she didn’t want to spoil their conversation.

“Yeah, I think I might,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tamlin’s mouth spread into a smile, so wide that his vibrant eyes creased at the corners. It transformed his face, and it made Feyre a little wobbly on her feet.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning closer to her. Running his thumb over her jaw, he added, “I don’t think I’ll bother if you’re not there.”

The bell rang, and Feyre jolted in surprise. Tamlin’s smile stayed in place as he dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “See you there, Feyre.” He took a slow step backward, awaiting her confirmation.

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Bye.”

He let his eyes linger over her face for one last step before turning to walk casually to his next class. Feyre felt her bottom lip pinch between her teeth and a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. Somehow, one short conversation had morphed into having, what felt like, a date on Friday night.

If only she could get her sister to cooperate.

——————————————————————————

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#nessian #nessian au #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #nessian high school au #not even at all #10 things i hate about you fic #twsd fics #twsd writes

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elenajohansenreads · 1 year

Text

Books I Read in 2023

#7 - House of Earth and Blood, by Sarah J. Maas

Rating: 1/5 stars

I didn't have any real intention of reading this when it came out, as I'd already gone through a love-hate cycle with Maas over ACOTAR. Which I loved when I first read, then hated for a while when I engaged with the fandom some and realized I'd been had by pretty faces, easily digestible prose, and excessive melodrama.

But last summer, a few years after reading the trilogy the first time, I reread them, and they were neither as good as I remember nor as bad as I'd feared.

When I was at the library, I saw this on the shelf, and said, "Why not? Maybe the writing's improved."

It hasn't. Ages ago I glimpsed a review on Tumblr that suggested this was Maas writing fan fiction for her own body of work, and I have to say, I agree. These are the same stock characters of hers with different names, the same "everyone is just so hot and powerful and amazing" attitude, the same style of convoluted plot based on an ever-increasing mountain of secrets and lies, so that there can constantly be big reveals between characters to fuel the angst.

But it gets worse, because Maas' success apparently has put her above editorial criticism. The length of the novel is bloated far past what the plot actually requires. We have to constantly be reminded what everyone looks like and how attractive everyone is and rehash conversations over and over again so that Maas can repeat the Arc Words (and there's like, five sets of Arc Words that are Oh So Important to the story) and because the world-building is so slapdash that it makes no sense we have to constantly explain the interactions between our high fantasy magic and the pseudo-real-world technology like cell phones and security systems...it's endless and exhausting. Underneath all of that, there might be a story worth saving, maybe, but it sure isn't 800 pages long.

The world is the weakest, laziest mishmash of borrowed mythological words and good ole Latin, pasted on to a bland city environment with no sense of the world around it beyond "there's this other distant continent at war and it's Very Important but you'll never see it." Beyond that, it's the most generic paranormal fantasy, let's make yet another world where every creature you've ever heard of can coexist but not really do much to explain why they're all here at once.

Just about the only thing I can praise in this book is that the romance arc really, truly, undoubtedly is based on friendship first, for those who value that. InstaLove is a trope I don't care for, and Hunt and Bryce, even if they start out as simple palette switches for other characters from other Maas stories, do slowly develop their own relationship that isn't an obvious retread of Feyre/Rhysand, the only one I have to compare it to because I only read the first book of the Throne of Glass series. I believe that they both carry the dark weight of their own histories and find comfort and support in each other. I believe that their forced-intimacy-style working relationship could become a true friendship even without the promise of romance shining in the distance.

But if I want good enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance, I can find that in better stories; it's not worth wading through everything else in this book that's bad.

#booklr #book review #book photography #my photos #read in 2023 #house of earth and blood

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happy-smiling-things · 2 years

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When the party’s over [6]

Nessian fanfiction, modern AU. Might involve mature content later.

Previous chapter

Summary: Since they met after Nesta’s return in Velaris, there’s always been this mysterious attraction between her and Cassian, but Nesta isn’t ready to accept it for multiple reasons. As time goes by, the attraction between them grows stronger, and it’s becoming harder and harder for Nesta to reject Cassian, even more when he’s being all she truly wants.

“But are you sure about that?” Cassian asked, walking through his flat with his phone In the hand.

“We can never be sure with Nesta, but it’s not like you had a lot of options.”

Sighing heavily, he stopped his walk and plopped on the couch.

“Alright, I’ll try that. Wish me luck Feyre.”

“Let me know how it went.”

“Can’t you ask Nesta? She’s your sister after all.”

“You know her, she won’t tell me a thing. I have to go, Rhys is waiting. Good luck!”

Before Cassian could say a thing, Feyre had hung up. Looking at the celling for a moment, he debated the idea.

A week had passed since the last time he had seen Nesta. After their fight, he had decided to give her some space, sensing that harassing her and asking her for explanations wouldn’t lead to anything good.

So he had managed to sneak in the library every morning without her seeing him, putting her usual coffee on her desk and disappearing to do is things. Emerie hadn’t said anything to him, barely acknowledging him when he entered or exited, which could be a good sign. Maybe she would have ripped his head off if Nesta had said anything about him to her friend…

He still had hope about the situation, although not much.

Things had always been difficult between them, but so natural at the same time. They were drown to each other, not matter what they tried, but every time things were starting to be serious, Nesta fled. She pushed him away, or panicked, yelled at him, and the end was always the same.

Today was the day to change this, Cassian had decided.

Getting up, he walked to the shower and dressed up, carefully choosing what to wear and making sure his messy bun looked good before going to the kitchen, preparing Nesta’s coffee as he always did since he’d first seen her there.

He had just finished to fill the cup when someone knocked on the door.

“Mor? What are you-”

“Surprise!” The woman said with a big smile, hugging him right away.

Cassian let out a small laugh as he hugged her back before letting her come in, following her in the living room as she made herself at ease, dropping on his couch.

“Long time no see.”

“I’ve been caught up in these stupid finals,” she complained, dropping her head backward, “but I figured I’d make some time for my dear friend.”

“Your dear friend?”

“Yes Cassian, my dear friend. I heard things were… complicated with Nesta these days.”

“Oh I see,” he began, “so you’re just here for the gossips. Should’ve guessed.”

“That’s not true!” Mor retaliated, straightening up to look at him with a frown, “I’m hear to make sure she’s not breaking your heart another time.”

Giving her his smirk, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“Breaking my heart? No one has ever done that to me.”

“Come on you know I don’t bite that, I’m not one of these girls you met at Rita’s.”

“That’s for sure, none of them know where I live.”

“Stop playing and come here,” she sighed, moving her hand on the sit next to her.

Cassian hesitated, but he knew she wouldn’t stop until she had what she wanted, so he walked to the couch, putting his forearms on his thighs once he was sat. Mor put her hand on his back, soothing him.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said softly.

“I don’t know what’s going on, that’s the problem. Things are going well, until they aren’t. We talk, we laugh, we dance, and all of sudden she flees away, she ignores me, she becomes distant again. It’s always one step ahead and two steps backward.”

“What was that fight about?”

“I’m still trying to understand actually,” he admitted. “She thinks I’m playing with her, but I don’t know from where she got that impression.”

“Let’s be honest, you going out and flirting with every woman isn’t how you seduce the girl you want.”

“Come on, I’m not like that anymore!”

Mor laughed at his outraged face, and it took a moment for her to calm down, but she did, much to her friend’s relief.

“Want me to be honest?”

“You couldn’t lie even if your life depended on it,” huffed Cassian.

“You know I’ve never understood why you are so obsessed with that girl when you could have everyone else.” She began, holding a hand up as her friend opened his mouth, “I mean, I get that she looks good, and you’ve always liked a challenge, but-”

“Nesta’s not a challenge Mor, she’s not some girl I want to fuck then go chase for another woman.”

Silence fell between the two friends, Mor’s hand frozen on his back, her eyes locked on him, a slight frown on her face.

“You’re really in love with her…” She whispered.

“You’re saying it like it’s the biggest news of the year.”

“Well, I knew there was something different with Nesta, but you never said what you really feel for her.”

Cassian looked at his hands, thinking about his friend’s words. If Mor was that surprised, it was no surprise that Nesta was so wary about him and his intentions.

“Look, if you really want the girl, be patient with her. I don’t particularly like her, and I don’t appreciate how she treats you, but in some ways… I understand her. Just be yourself, but don’t push her too much.”

Looking up at the blonde girl who had stood up in his living room, he arched an eyebrow, his smirk coming back.

“Don’t worry, I can be gentle when needed,” he jocked.

Mor sighed and pushed him playfully as he came closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. She hugged him back nevertheless and smiled when he kissed her cheek before going back to his kitchen.

“Do you have any other advice for me?” He called from there, taking Nesta’s cup and his before moving back to the living room.

“You should probably put some deodorant before driving me to Az’s.”

“I took a shower less than an hour ago, I cannot smell that bad.”

“You’re reeking fear,” she joked.

Letting out a laugh as he grabbed his keys, Cassian pushed her outside, leading the way to his car.

“You didn’t tell me why you needed to go see Az,” he said once they were on the road.

“Well, you’re not the only one having some problem with romanticizing an Archeron, and since I’m the Archeron expert here...”

“No one’s ever called you that.”

“Rhys did one time.”

“But you were threatening him!”

“Do I need to remind you Feyre and Rhys are together because of my magic?” Asked Mor with an arched brow.

“Oh sorry, I thought it was because they were in love,” retaliated Cassian.

Mor just pushed his arm playfully, making him laugh with her outraged expression. Today was pretty warm, which was perfect for what Cassian had in mind, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing his friend wouldn’t let him alone if he told her about his plans.

“So, Az and Elain? Do you see it happening any time soon?”

“If I’m doing my job right, they’ll be together tonight,” stated Mor.

“Poor Az, he doesn’t know what’s coming for him,” he chuckled.

“He’s the one who asked for help, and for what I know he did just well on their first real date.”

“They had their first date already?”

“Who’s the one wanting to gossip now?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway. Az was his brother, and Elain was the sweetest girl he’d ever met. They deserved some happiness.

Mor went on about that awesome plan of hers, telling him all the details, how she had picked up Az’s outfit for his date and everything, which made him laugh. That blondie had always been like that, finding her way and pushing her ideas into people’s mind.

“So? Still bringing her coffee to Nesta?” She smirked as Cassian parked on the side of the road.

He waved her off, but couldn’t hide his little smile, which made Mor huff.

“Good luck with the girl, and don’t forget to text me to tell me how it went,” she said before kissing his cheek quickly, walking with her chin high to Az’s flat.

Waving at her, he went back on the road and drove to the library. There was already a lot of people there, considering how many cars were parked on the parking lot, but he didn’t mind.

Putting his sunglasses on and checking himself one more time in the rear-view mirror, he took Nesta’s coffee and headed towards the library, his troublemaker smile on as he crossed the door. Things were pretty calm inside, even if a lot of students were there. Taking a few steps further, he saw Nesta working at her desk, her colleague doing the same on her right.

“Good morning,” he smiled, putting the coffee on the desk.

She didn’t respond, but took the coffee anyway, looking him over before putting the cup aside and going back to work without a word. Emerie’s eyes went between him and her friend, and she nudged her. Nesta just glared back, and the two women started a weird conversation with exchanged looks and facial expressions. Cassian tried to hide his amusement as much as he could, but it was something.

“How can I help you?” Nesta finally said.

“Just say yes.”

“No.”

“No is not yes Nesta, it’s quite the opposite actually,” he smirked.

“What do you want me to agree with?” She countered.

Cassian could see Emerie on the corner of his eyes, and even if she was trying her hardest not to look at them and work, he could tell she was listening to every word of their conversation.

“Go on a date with me.”

Nesta let out a dry laugh, her eyes still on him as she leaned against the back of her chair.

“What’s happening Cassian? Don’t have any girl available or some mysterious things to do here in my library?”

“I took the day off just for you sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” she said with a fake smile, finishing her coffee before throwing the cup in the trash, “but sadly I have to decline this offer.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well, as you can see, I’m working. We’re pretty busy right now, so I don’t have time to go out with you.”

“You know you can take your day off,” commented Emerie, still typing something.

Nesta turned her head to her friend and glared at her, but the other woman just shrugged, though her smirk betrayed her.

“I can’t, there’s just too much to do here.”

“I can manage, it’s not a problem. Plus you’ve been having tough days this month by working alone when I was sick, you could use a day off.”

“I don’t see how spending time with him would relax me,” replied Nesta, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I promise you you’ll be relaxed by the end of the day.”

Nesta let out a loud sigh as she looked at him, her look hard. Cassian finally took off his sunglasses, and his flirty smile disappeared.

“Look, I know you wanted me to stay away, and I’ve tried for a moment, I did my best to stay out of your sight and let you breath, but I really wish you would give me a chance. It doesn’t even have to be called a date, let’s just hang out. I just want to get to know you, and I’d like for you to know the real me.”

The woman sitting in front of him didn’t say a word, but as always, he could see everything through her eyes. There was curiosity inside her look, but also suspicion. Nesta wasn’t a woman you could easily convince with words, and it was pretty hard to make her change her mind he had learned.

“It’s your choice, I won’t force you into anything. I’d love to spend the day with you, but if you don’t want to that’s okay, I won’t bother you.”

The woman stared at him, her lips forming a thin line as he waited in silence, fidgeting with his sunglasses, silently praying for her to give in.

Seconds seemed to be hours, and he didn’t dare to move until she turned to her computer without a word. She quickly typed something before closing what she was on, standing up with her purse, her eyes going back to Cassian.

“Alright, don’t make me regret this,” she said.

Nodding while trying his best to hide his smile, Cassian took a step aside to let her walk away from the desk. Nesta started to go toward the front door and he followed promptly, opening it for her, a quick glance on his back confirming what he had been sensing while walking, Emerie glaring at him with a silent warning in her eyes.

The sun was so bright he had to put his sunglasses back on to see Nesta in front of him without squinting his eyes, and he swiftly passed before her when they approached his car, opening the door for her.

“Well, it’s nice to see you still have some manners.”

“You’re welcome Nesta,” he smiled before getting in.

After those few words, they spent the ride silent, Nesta looking by the window while Cassian was trying his best to remain calm, his thoughts going all around. He had prepared everything and checked mentally every step of his plan as he had driven Mor in the morning to make sure nothing would ruin this date, maybe even tried a little prayer so the sun would shine all day.

Parking the car on the side of the road, he let Nesta get out and take in the view as he grabbed his backpack, taking a few step on the path, looking behind to make sure she’d follow.

“See? A public place, I’m not trying to trick you.”

She looked at him, nibbling at her lip for a second before she walked to his side, her eyes stuck on something far away in front of her. He wasn’t even sure she was looking at something in particular, but so far she hadn’t run away, so it was a victory.

“Shall we?” He proposed, taking another step ahead.

Nesta nodded, following on his heels, and they went on their walk, sinking into the park waiting for them.

“Why here?” She finally asked after a moment.

“I like it, it’s peaceful, and we couldn’t waste a day inside with such a beautiful day waiting for us.”

They continued their walk, Nesta looking around, taking in all sorts of flowers and trees, while Cassian was trying his best not to just stare at her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. There was something so innocent in the way she was contemplating the colors around, as if she had never taken the time to do something as simple as walking in a park, something that warmed his chest. She hadn’t taken her guards down, in fact her walls were taller than he had ever seen them, and still, he could see her through the cracks.

“It must change you from your dusty books,” he joked.

“It must change you from your suffocating club.”

The words had escaped her mouth before she could think about it, he could guess it from the face she made before letting out a small sigh.

“Fair I guess, even if I spend far less time in there lately.”

“How is that so?” She asked, turning her head to him.

Smiling at her, he couldn’t resist the urge to wink at her, and couldn’t suppress the chuckle from his throat as she rolled her eyes at him. This, right here, it was more familiar and comfortable than the silence they had been staying in since the library.

“If I told you you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Why are you so sure about that?”

“Because, to you I’m just a womanizer who doesn’t do anything good of his time.”

Cassian had meant it to be a joke, but he realized by the way Nesta’s back stiffened she hadn’t taken it as it. Opening his mouth to apologize, he was stopped by the oldest Archeron.

“Well, maybe all hope isn’t lost with you,” she started.

“Oh, you think so?”

“You’re in charge of the reading program after all.”

“I knew reading for kids would get me some points.”

Nesta turned her head at that, her eyebrows high, and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh. It was so easy to tease her.

“Don’t worry, I’m not doing it just because I hoped it’d help me with you.”

“You never told me why you decided to do it actually,” she said.

“You never asked.”

The woman opened her mouth to argue, but she stopped and slowly closed it, turning her head to the side. Looking at her with a smile, Cassian then guided her on the grass, choosing a spot near the river before he installed a blanket, settling his bag on it before he offered his hand to help Nesta to sit down, a hand that she accepted.

Once they were all set, Cassian took a moment to just look at Nesta.

Her cheekbones were high, giving her face a fierce look that was common for the Archeron sisters, even if Elain had softer features. Her golden brown hair was styled in a bun and shining under the sunlight, and there were only a few things Cassian wanted more than undo it. It was a rare thing to see Nesta with her hair down, and a thing he liked a lot. She was sitting with her back straight and her head high, looking at the water running down gently, and it was giving him a full sight of her neck.

Her delicate, oh so soft neck.

“So?”

Blinking a few times and clearing his throat, Cassian tried to remember what they had talked about earlier, but his mind was empty.

“So what?” He ended up asking.

“Why did you choose to get in charge on this reading program?” She asked.

“Well, I’ve always liked to be with children.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” he said, “they’re really fun and bluntly honest, I like that.”

“I would have never guessed.”

“You’ve known me since high school,” protested Cassian.

“And I’ve only seen you being interested in girls, parties and sports.”

There wasn’t a lot to argue with here, and he perfectly knew it. He had always been that way since that time, but it was something that had changed, and he was determined to prove it to Nesta.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Right, now you also like stalking me,” she retaliated, “oh but wait, that was something you were already a fan of back in time.”

“I’m not a stalker!”

“You’ve been tracking my schedule just so you could bring me a coffee every morning!”

“It’s not stalking, it’s gifting,” tried to argue Cassian.

“Call it what you want, we both know what it is.”

“Exactly.”

That last word got a smile out of Nesta as she gently shook her head, and they both laughed before she turned her eyes to him.

“At least you’ve been providing a welcomed dose of courage to face all the students that are coming at the library these days.”

“You were one of them not so long ago,” he reminded her.

Nesta shrugged her shoulders, and something he didn’t really like shone in her eyes. Something far too close to what he had seen on Rhys face when he had bad memories coming back.

“I’m glad I’m not anymore,” she whispered, almost too quietly for Cassian to hear.

Almost.

“Why? You were so glad to get out of here when we graduated from high-school.”

The question had escaped from his mouth, and Cassian was half expecting her to ignore it, or to see her withdraw, but Nesta surprised him by staying calm and looking back at the river, pulling her legs up and crossing her arms on top of it.

“Well, college isn’t just about studying what you like, there are people.”

Something clicked inside his mind, and Cassian frowned at her, searching for any clue that would confirm what he was thinking.

“Did something happened while you were away?” He asked, his voice soft.

A dry laugh escaped Nesta, and he could see her jaw tense up, her eyes growing darker.

“A lot happened. My dad happened to be a pathetic coward leaving us to live alone. Someone I thought I could count on happened to be a douchebag. Men happened to be unsurprisingly deceiving. Bad things happened, life happened to be surprisingly harder thanks to him, but it’s nothing new for an Archeron I guess, we seem to be pretty terrible at choosing our partners.”

“Feyre got Rhys, and Elain is about to choose Az sooner or later,”objected Cassian, “There’s still hope for the Archeron sisters.”

“Yeah…”

There was something she wasn’t telling him, something he was a bit scared to ask about, unsure of how he would react. Maybe some things were better left unsaid.

But Cassian had never been a fan of unsaid stuff.

“Tell me about him. What did he do to you,” he asked, getting a little closer to Nesta without touching her.

She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes locked on the hand resting near hers on the blanket, and he didn’t push her, waiting patiently for her to say something he half expected, but also half feared.

The gentle breeze was more than welcomed, reminding him to breath, and Cassian did his best to calm his heart, focusing on the woman sitting next to him, careful not to move.

“Things he shouldn’t have I guess,” she finally let out.

“Did he…”

“No. He tried though, but I managed to get away.”

She was saying those words so easily that Cassian didn’t know how to react. His first instinct was to chase down the bastard who had dared to touch Nesta, that had hurt her so badly. But he knew this wasn’t the answer, this just wasn’t the solution to help her.

“I was naive,” continued Nesta, looking everywhere but at him, “I was finally out of this city, ready for a new chapter in my life. It was the first time I thought I’d be able to only work on my projects and what I wanted, and he appeared out of nowhere, being nice and polite and funny and everything. I let my guard down and things went down once we started dating.”

Cassian stayed absolutely silent, trying hard not to let his imagination get wild about how bad things had been during this time. He also didn’t want to say a thing or react too much about the words Nesta was saying, which could cause her to stop talking.

“There’s not a lot more to say, it was just a typical toxic relationship with a jerk.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Cassian.

This caught Nesta’s attention, getting her out of her thoughts as she looked up at him. Cassian waited for her next move, but she kept staring at him in silence as if she was analyzing him and every possible change on his face.

“I know,” she finally let out.

“Good.”

Something then happened, something only them could understand. It had happened a few times before, and Cassian had never really thought about it, living in the moment, but he was now starting to recognize that pattern between them. It usually led to Nesta either loosing it or getting away from him, fleeing as if he was a fire she needed to escape at all cost.

In those moments, time itself didn’t exist, it was only Nesta and him. There wasn’t any word, everything was felt in silent, and it was simultaneously too much and not enough, leaving Cassian frustrated.

“What about you?” She asked after that moment of silence.

“What about me?”

“What did you do while I was away?”

“Well,” smiled Cassian, “I tried uni, much to everyone’s surprise, and dropped out of it after a month. That part didn’t surprise anyone though.”

That comment made Nesta roll her eyes and sigh, which made his troublemaker smile widen on his face. She looked back at him slightly disapprovingly, but made no comment, which wasn’t really like her.

“What were you studying?”

“Business. I didn’t really know what to do, and Rhys seemed really happy about that, so I let myself go with him. Turns out it was a great idea for him, but not really for me.”

“What did you do after that?”

That genuine curiosity about him took him a bit out of guard, but he wouldn’t complain. If anything, having Nesta being interested in him was a nice change, and a chance to show her he was a good guy.

“A bit of everything,” he shrugged, “I’ve tried a lot of jobs to see what could fit me, you wouldn’t believe what I did.”

“Try me.”

There it was, that little sparkle in her eyes with that eyebrow raised, waiting for a challenge to come.

“Well, I tried to be a bartender, and I was pretty good at it as you can think, but they said I was serving too heavy drinks, so I applied to be a mechanic, but it turns out I’m only good at fixing my car. So, I tried to be a hairstylist.”

“No way.”

“Yes way, and I was doing awesome! If only I’d contented myself with cutting hair and hadn’t tried to color that client’s hair…”

“What did you do to them?”

“I may have accidentally colored a client’s hair green instead of blonde.”

“Cassian!”

“Hey, I didn’t know how all these products worked, it was bond to happen okay,” he tried to defend himself.

That shocked look on Nesta’s face was priceless, and he couldn’t contain his laugh longer. She slapped his arm for it, but the amused smirk she had betrayed her.

“I got fired as you can guess, and got hired as a physical trainer after that. It was nice, and I could’ve continued if Rhys hadn’t created his agency and proposed me to be head of security.”

Nesta nodded, her glance changing a little bit, becoming softer in some kind of way. There was no judgment here, just understanding.

“So that’s how you ended up walking around in black with a walkie-talkie and a constant scowl on your face?”

“Exactly, gotta look impressive and serious so no one will cause trouble,” he smiled.

“I bet no one’s ever tried.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we have some good stories at the security department.”

Nesta didn’t answer immediately after that, and he took the time to look at her in that peaceful silence. Those moments were rare, and he intended to savor each and every second given like that with her.

“Are you happy?” She finally asked.

It wasn’t a question he was waiting for, not from her. Elain could’ve asked that, had asked him a couple times when his smile wasn’t as wide as usual, or his laugh a bit forced.

“I know life wasn’t… easy for you, back in high-school. There were rumors, and…”

“Life wasn’t easy for you neither, Nesta,” interrupted Cassian.

“It wasn’t the question.”

“I know.”

“Are you happy?”

“Are you?”

Letting out a big sigh, Nesta threw her hands up, rolling her eyes at the same time.

There she was, the usual Nesta.

“Why do you do this?”

“Do what?” Retaliated Cassian.

“Shirking the question like that!”

“Why do you care anyway? One day I’m a jerk you want nothing to do with and the next one you want to know if I’m happy?”

And as always when they started to argue, words he intended to say in a calm conversation had slipped out of his mouth. It was something they were used to do, something he wanted to change, but still, something they always ended up falling for.

But, unlike what he was thinking, and unlike herself, Nesta froze and staid silent.

Running her tongue on her lip, she kept her eyes on him, and he could almost see her thoughts running through her mind. Staying calm, he didn’t move, looking right back at her, knowing that adding words wouldn’t do any good.

“I’m sorry, about that.”

The breeze around carried her words to his ears, and he didn’t register what she had just said for a few seconds.

“I know I can be a lot to handle. I’m harsh, I’m hard, I don’t trust anyone, I don’t open up, and I tend to lash out on you most of the time. I know it’s unfair, and I know I have to work on it. I just don’t know how to do it when I’m in the middle of a crisis.”

“Being aware of all of this, this is the biggest step.”

“You think so?” She chuckled, “Knowing how to get my shit together is way harder.”

Cursing wasn’t usual for Nesta, and it always surprised Cassian when she did it.

“Well, it’s also easier said than done I guess.”

“It most definitely is.”

“But you know what? It doesn’t matter.”

The older Archeron looked at him with an eyebrow high, her chin resting on her palm. It was a shame that she didn’t let herself just be like that more often, really.

“What doesn’t matter?”

“That you end up turning your anger on me.”

“It does.”

“Why? I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to, and the fact that it doesn’t bother you should make you realize that I’m not the only one having issues.”

“Oh don’t worry Nesta, I’m perfectly aware of my issues,” he laughed, giving her a wink.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to work on ourselves then.”

“I guess so.”

Cassian took a moment for himself then, closing his eyes and letting his head fall gently until he was bathing in the sun, its warmth caressing his skin. It had been a long time since he had felt so peaceful.

Something warm on his forearm made him open his eyes, and he found Nesta’s hand resting there, those gray eyes on him.

“Are you happy Cassian?” She asked once again.

A smile grew on his face as he let himself think about it, even if his thoughts were all turned towards those fingers resting on his skin, almost burning him, but in a pleasant way.

“I’m on my way.”

She didn’t say a word, just nodding at him with what almost could’ve been called a smile, and her eyes fell on his bag. Unfocused at first, they grew the second she spotted the book he had put in there for her, and her hand left his forearm to grab it.

It felt abnormally cold for a second, but her expression warmed up his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile as she started to get her way through the book, laying on the blanket as if he wasn’t here, playing with the corner of the page she was holding and chewing her lower lip as her eyes were running through the lines, her mind eager. Letting her fall into her rhythm, Cassian laid on his side, playing with some flowers while his eyes were glued on the woman next to him, until he couldn’t help but threw the flower at her.

The scold he got for it made him fall on his back with a laugh, the seriousness of her expression completely ruined by the flower stuck in her hair.

“How do you dare interrupt my reading,” she fumed, making him laugh louder.

“I just had to make sure you hadn’t forgotten about me.”

“How could I?”

“True, I’m unforgettable,” he smirked.

And just like that, they were back in their old playful pattern, Cassian chasing Nesta, the woman pushing him away, but not so much.

Ignoring him, she turned back to her book, a frown on her face as she concentrated herself on the text instead of Cassian, a finger leading the way on the paper.

It could’ve been a minute, an hour, or even a decade, Cassian wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have cared. As long as he was allowed by her side, everything would be okay.

“Alright, this one is spicy, you’ve got to stop reading in public now,” he said as she had stopped on a page.

“Absolutely not!”

“Of course Nesta, as if I couldn’t guess what this poem is about just by looking at you.”

“You can’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” she said, turning her head to him.

“Alright, let’s check then.”

Throwing himself, he snatched the book from her, getting back on a sitting position as Nesta argued and tried to get it back.

“I didn’t put a bookmark on it, you’re going to loose the page!” She complained.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly where you were at.”

Stretching his arm away from her as she tried once again to get the book, he waited until she stopped her attempts to get it back, then opened it at the page she had stopped and started reading, his smile growing with every word read.

“I was so right,” he chuckled.

“Prove it,” interjected Nesta, crossing her arms against her chest.

Clearing his throat, Cassian straightened his position, giving her one last look before he focused his attention on the book.

“For there is nothing warmer than your skin, and nothing sweeter than the taste you left on my chin, I must confess-”

“Okay, stop right now!” She almost yelled, covering his mouth with her hand, looking left and right to make sure no one had heard him.

Letting the book fall on the blanket, Cassian couldn’t help but let out another laugh, completely collapsing by the sight of Nesta’s embarrassment.

“It doesn’t prove a single thing,” she defended herself, getting back the book.

“Shall I continue my reading?” He asked, his brow high.

She put the book behind her back and scolded at him as if he was a child misbehaving, and it only pushed him to continue.

“It’s okay Nesta, just surrender, it’s no big deal.”

“You haven’t proven that you can read my expression, only that you can read, which shouldn’t be considered as an accomplishment at your age.”

“And how do you think I knew you were reading a spicy poem?”

“You just got lucky,” she answered quickly.

“Yeah sure, it was just luck, not your cheeks turning red, or you licking your lower lip while being super focused.”

Their banter could’ve lasted longer after that, but both their phones buzzed at the same time, and Feyre’s name appeared on the screens.

“So, sounds like there’s a party at your house,” said Cassian once he read the text.

“Yeah, sounds like I won’t be sleeping much.”

“Poor little grandma.”

Glaring at Cassian, Nesta quickly answered to her sister before letting out a sigh, having flashbacks from the last party they had hosted.

“I swear if I have to clean everything alone again, I’ll kill each and every person being there tonight.”

That threat sounded more like a plead to Cassian who tried his best not to laugh, in vain. It was a fair reaction though, since they had thrown a giant party without warning a few weeks ago, everyone ending up hammered after drinking for hours.

“I’ll help you,” he proposed.

“Will you?”

Those gray eyes could ask for anything, and he would comply without a second thought.

“Absolutely, like the gentleman I am.”

“We’ll see about that,” huffed Nesta, “and you better keep an eye on Azriel and Rhysand, I won’t explain to the neighbors why they were running around naked at two in the morning again.”

“I’ll do my best, but I don’t really want to know what Rhys is up to once he gets handsy with your sister.”

Nesta made a face at that, but didn’t say anything back, preferring to put her things away before getting up.

“Alright, I guess we should move then. I know how long it takes for you to get ready.”

“You said that now, but wait until the day you have to see how long it takes for Rhys to choose what to wear.”

“Not my boyfriend, not my problem.”

Cassian laughed at that one as he folded up the cover and put it back in his bag, starting to walk with Nesta by his sides. This day had passed quicker than he wanted it to, but it was a good sign. Things had gone so much better than he had hoped it would, and he was so glad he had had that with her. These moments would stay with him for a moment, and he hoped many more were to come, because being with Nesta was addictive.

They stepped out of the path to get back on the parking lot, and he caught her sighing as they approached his car.

“I know,” He smirked while opening the door for her, “it was a lovely day, and I wish it could’ve lasted a bit more too, but this party means we’ll see each other for a bit longer today.”

Cassian was waiting for her to roll her eyes or scoff at him, maybe push him playfully before getting in the car, but he was most certainly not waiting for the words she then pronounced.

“It was a nice day,” she nodded looking at his face, “thank you for this Cassian.”

It was the way she said his name, or maybe the way the gray of her eyes soften for a second, or maybe both that made his heart melt there and then. Taken aback by the softness of her voice, it took him a moment before he could move again, his smirk becoming a gentle smile.

“Maybe I’ll enjoy this party after all,” she added, staying near him for a bit more before getting on her seat.

Letting out his breath, Cassian swallowed and blinked a few times before closing the door, walking to his side of the car with his heart racing.

This day would haunt him for days and nights, he could already tell.

tag list: @illyrian-bookworm / @dreamerforever-5 / @my-fan-side / @tessas-herondales / @girlnovels / @to-the-stars-who-wish / @strangeenemy / @maastrash / @humanexile / @booklover41802 / @mis-lil-red / @actuallyacotartrash / @keshavomit / @fourshizzle149 / @amcarroll11

#nessian #cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjmaas #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #feyre archeron #elain archeron #emerie #nessian fanfiction #i'm baaaaaaack #so sorry for the hiatus guys

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holyplaces13 · 2 years

Text

You Always Seem To Bring Me Light - Elucien

read this AO3

Summary: Florist Elain Archeron, was having her bad day and even more so meeting her ex-fiancé at a party. Drinking in a bar, she meets the most unlikely people in the world and wins a Cupake to celebrate her birthday. She makes a wish.

Prologue

The party was supposed to be the best of the year, but like every party it has its worst moments and in Elain's case she saw her ex-fiancé with the woman he cheated on at the same event. The woman tried to ignore him for a few minutes, but she left the party and went to a bar. The ex-fiancé's audacity with that woman so beautiful, but so rotten, was too much for her that she went to their house and helped with the wedding preparations and in the end the groom was having sex with her inside his own house. Elain would never forget the noises the two of them made.

The next worst day is Elain's 24th birthday and she might be in a bar waiting for midnight. But no, she was at the same party with her ex-fiancé and her lover.

So the florist went to a bar while drinking a good whiskey, she kept thinking and rethinking how stupid she had been with Graysen, how she could have realized before that he was no good and could have gotten out of that relationship, but now she was sitting here in this bar thinking what an idiot he was.

Her cell phone vibrated because of the group she had with her sisters, the message was from Feyre with a photo of Nyx sleeping in her pajamas with a teddy bear with a very comical and expected caption. The woman responded with a few hearts and hung up her cell phone and went back to her whiskey glass. Hearing a voice behind where she was and she turned and to face her biggest nightmare, Lucien Spell Cleaver, son of one of the best lawyers and by consequence, Lucien was following in his father's footsteps. So she tried to hide from him, but it was no use.

The man came in all her glory, and she hated to look at him and see how handsome he was, but even with all that arrogance she couldn't detract from the beauty.

"Look if it's not Princess Archeron or now it's not Archeron anymore? Should I say this, Higgins?"

"Really Lucien? I didn't know you were such an idiot"

"Wasn't your wedding last month?"

“Do you really think if I were married, I'd be in this bar drinking this whiskey? To God."

Lucien was surprised by the news and sat down next to her ordering the same drink as Elain.

“So that means you're single. Good news to my ears, but tell me why did you call off your wedding?

Elain laughed.

"Apparently you're out of date on the news, were you in a cave last month?"

“I was in Scotland visiting my maternal grandparents. So update me on the angel news.”

Elain looked at him and started to wonder if she really should tell Lucien what happened. She drank the liquid from her glass and looked at the man.

“In short, I found Graysen in our bed with the wedding planner pushing his cock inside her and she made a noise. Let's face it, he's not all about sex. Sometimes I think he only knows three things about sex.” Elain took Lucien's glass and drank.

Lucien looked at Elain and wondered what to say to her. Betray? He couldn't say much, for he was a bastard child.

“You know the worst? He took her to the same event I was at. So I thought it was a good idea to come to this bar for a drink. Tomorrow is my birthday. "Elain smiled.

“Graysen was never a decent person, I think everyone expected that from him.” Lucien watched her. “Glad I found you here then. Today wasn't the best, so I'll help you with that." Lucien smiled. "I'll pay for that round and if you want I'll even buy you a muffin."

Drinks arrived along with a slice of cake and before toasting.

"Really a piece? What? With a candle?" Elain questioned him.

"This bar belongs to my brother and his wife is a pastry chef. The bartender who was serving us is another brother of mine. So, place an order."

Elain kissed Lucien's cheek and went back to the cake.

"Maybe you're not such an idiot."

"Order Miss Archeron."

"I hope today is the last bad memory I have today. By the way, tomorrow is my birthday. It doesn't hurt to order early, does it?"

And it was the last thing Elain remembered.

#elain archeron #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #pro elucien #elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fic

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stormhearty · 2 months

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These are great ramblings! I love reading your fanfics, even if sometimes it takes me a while to read them, as my reading skills are often at an all-time high - When you released "Pushed to the Edge" I would check the azriel x reader tag every day to see if there was an update. Then I read your others and I loved them, but I confess that PTTE has a place in my heart!!!

I never gave in to the oppression of spending money on otome games (I had no money at the time). Yes, it was hard work to get those diamonds and nowhere near our favorites. It was absurd! My types of otome are secrets🤫🤫 I don't really remember😹😹 I used to install several at the same time so that when I ran out of tickets and diamonds for one, I could just move on to another🤣🤣 How about you?

This book would definitely have a picture of him on the cover with that smile of his. That's totally Rhysand, a man with the ego of a lovebird.

I don't like the pink because I have eye problems and when I go to look at the words they end up coming together and the color hurts my eyes and strains the poor thing and I'm like "oh! no!😭😵". It's easy, just press a word or phrase you want until a few commands appear and it's all there ( by cell phone). I could send you a print, but that would ruin my anonymity and I like being patonima (a combination of duck + anonymous in my language).

I'm fine, as far as I can! And you?

😭😭😭

Awee thank you!! PTTE has also a special place in my heart~ I was able to meet everyone here because of that series! In all honesty, I love PTTE but it also made me very nervous because I was very worried that it wouldn't live up to the hype everyone had about it. Like I've said multiple times in the past, PTTE was just supposed to be a one-shot, open ending to let readers interpret what might happen in the end. But so many people wanted a part two that I wracked my head so many times to make it good. And I am glad people enjoyed it so much! I have large shoes to fill - my own shoes. 🤣🤣

Oh yeah, as like a high schooler and a college student I could never pay for extra diamonds or tickets because I would have to use my parent's account. As an adult, the only time I splurged on those extra tickets or diamonds was just the past month since I had like a gift card so I could use that money however I pleased. The only otome game I have bought officially is called Collar Malice on the Switch, and I bought that on sale. Other than that, I just grind daily for those things. 🤣🤣🤣

Not even the cover, I'm sure he'd ask Feyre to paint something - of the both of them (probably naked or something) for the cover. His author photo would be his shit-eating grin.

I might be able to figure it out myself, when I have the time (since I do have to go to work in a couple of minutes). If you say it's easy then I believe you, my duckie anon.

Death looms over me. 🤣🤣 it's my 2/2 12 hour shift tonight so I'm a bit dead. I have four days off after this, but I might be reading "Two Twisted Crowns" today and tomorrow.

#( .🦆 anon )#( .asks )#( .nikki ramblings )

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haptureratch · 8 months

Text

acotar is getting good but it's reminding me of /issues/

the issue being that i think i have an addiction to sex, even when not having it, as has become the norm since pre-pandemic (I know, 2016 jess, i know, what has become of us) . i was reading acotar in the bath tub trying to get back to 'normal life' - which i do not know how to do when there is real fucking footage of alex fucking turner on my actual fucking cell phone that i took myself

IF WE CAN TAKE A NON-SEXUAL DETOUR FOR A MOMENT: holy fucking shit what the fuck even. the band came out and my mouth was like smacked open and alex turner single handedly held my jaw in place for maybe HALF of their first song before i could move again. the man is power. he's style. he's smooth and he is perfect. you can't fuck him. even if you wanted to, you just can't. i don't even think i could fuck him if he asked. he like....not to sound like the creepiest binch who ever binched....transcends that. am i ok? no but really i was in shock, awe, delight, good pain, more shock and awe and disbelief. he was just

so. good. if you bottled him up he'd be the hardest hitting more complex and beautiful cocktail. if he was meat he'd be the highest quality most expensive and tender juicy and delicious shit you could buy. ---------it's getting weird but i swear it's still not sexual.

alright so back to the post.

life is bland so much of the time. and kind of painful when i'm not content. what would you do if you had an itch that you couldn't scratch? it would ache and ache until it died away but lingered on in your mind. you'd remember how fucking good the scratch felt but you'd build a whole ruddy complex surrounding it because it's so easily accessible but sometimes the most important thing in your life so it's got to be quality. and so much weight is wrapped around what works and what doesn't to the point where you'll die if you're not fucked good and you'll die if you are and it's not good and you'll die before it takes you again.

do i even know what i'm saying?

bland. until i got to calanmai in acotar. the way i lit back up again is concerning. and something in the way she (the author) described the mounting interplay between tamlin and feyre--the edging basically lmao--reminded me of james and i took a moment to reminisce over the DC trip.

it is a delicious day dream that i can fall into every now and again. the increasing build over hours and hours. the interest piqued in the hotel bar, the RIDICULOUS (-ly hot and -ly public) play in the tapas restaurant, the standing out in the cold unable to stop touching and kissing each other's cheeks and necks, the way we unmistakably belonged to each other that night. JKLDSSADFJKLL;DSFK;KAJDA FUCK MY WHOLE LIFE

THAT SHOULD NOT BE THE THING I AM SAVORING SO HEAVILY WHEN I LOOK BACK ON MY PAST

i god damn graduated medical school. i have MD behind my name. and it's not even real anymore bc my passions lie in this wretched place. they always have. this is the place that called to me when i was a kid. this is the place i was most excited to finally start exploring in real life. this is the place i spent countless fantasy hours before my first boyfriend. this place (my sensuality and sexuality) i fear is the deepest part of me and where my soul resides. not in science, not in the operating room, not in research, not anywhere i can display proudly like the rest of them.

the happiest i've felt and the most devastated i've been has stemmed from this place. and if that's a lie, this place tricks me into thinking otherwise.

and i can write pretty things about it all day long. on the outside, i can use my education to label it as it is:

addiction.

P.S. sometimes i wish i had not slammed the door in james's face. the thing that has always ruined my nice things. me wanting more. me thinking i deserved more. it doesn't even matter if my friends are right and i deserve to have an actual partner who loves me and treats me as their equal and they are actually MY equal.... i had a chance to understand that james would only ever be a part time fantasy-come-to-life and just enjoy him for that. maybe some more trips here and there together. but my stupid fucking ego was like OMIGOD HIM IS USING U GIRLBOSS FUCC THAT BOI SIS GO OFF and i had to get rude and essentially publicly humiliate him so that he's stop toying with me.

same thing with old rob back in the day. i could have just accepted that it was gonna be some amazing sex and that's it. but no. i had to play those useless games, ever in vain, only to my detriment. i had to want love and meaning and monogamy.

you know what i guess it's because that place is so all-encompassing, it never has been and never will be not tied up with the core of me, the whole of me. and i'm always going to want the whole of my partner.

but even then, with the whole of my partner, like i had with aaron, it still was not enough.

that place is a blackness sometimes. hungry, demanding, exacting. never satisfied.

whatever disorder driving the addiction and then the two causing friction for each other

#when she wrote #kinda sorta #the spirit is there for sure #and then just fucking ramblings bc the sleep she comes for me finally

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Text

The Bet | Chapter Thirty-One

Andromache’s POV of this chapter here

Masterlist//Timeline//3134 words

Day 89

Feyre didn’t know what she had been expecting. After all, she had told her insane story to a mere local news reporter in a hospital waiting room. She hadn’t been preparing for a crowd of people gathering to listen or dozens of reporters at her door the next day. Still, some recognition would have been nice, as that was the whole point of sharing what had happened in the first place.

All she got was the attention of an elderly man in a wheelchair spooning out some green jello and an Asian couple that wandered over, only to keep glancing at their cell phones and sighing. Looking for some form of amusement in their boredom, most likely, and the only interesting thing in sight was a loon yelling at a reporter.

Feyre refused to be disappointed. If no one picked up on her story, then she would tell it again. And again. However many times it took until people started believing her and Tamlin was ruined.

Laying in bed the morning after, she thought back on the events of last night.

Feyre had told the reporter everything. Meeting Tamlin. Falling for him. His mental abuse. Trying to leave and being knocked out and locked up. Escaping. She’d made sure to add a few details here and there that only someone close to Tamlin would know, to add credibility to her story.

And then Feyre had described his appearance at her gallery opening, and Ianthe’s in the alleyway. The threats, Dr. Suriel’s murder, and finally, her hospitalization. Not to mention the lack of the flash drive containing their evidence.

She’d finished, and the reporter had looked mildly interested, but also conflicted. Just before she could turn off the camera and say Feyre wouldn’t be making any headlines, something very unexpected had happened.

Lucien had walked over.

He talked about Jesminda and what his family had done to her. How Tamlin had taken him in, and then spent the next few years treating him like shit. Lucien had detailed his account of Feyre’s presence and added his agreement to every claim she had made. He had also made a few claims of his own: claims of illegal activity in the company, such as tax fraud and shady dealings.

And then Mor. She’d verified getting the call from Feyre and added her own take on Tamlin’s ambush at the gallery.

Cassian had nothing to add, because he hadn’t actually been present for any of the events and any input would be mere speculation. So instead of continuing the allegations, he’d simply put his hand on Feyre’s back soothingly.

To Feyre’s eternal surprise, Rhys had started speaking next. His wounds were the deepest and his past the most painful, and Feyre never would have expected nor wanted him to make it public.

She’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to, but Rhys had only given her a sad smile and faced the camera once more. And, while keeping some of the worse aspects of his time with Amarantha vague, he had come clean about everything, as Feyre and Lucien had.

It had been like in some wacky soap opera when the main character gets a bunch of dramatic, unrealistic support from the friends on national television. Except this wasn’t national television. There had been applause when they finished, however; the old man set down his jello and clapped. It didn’t do much for moral to think he probably assumed they were actors trying to cheer up patients or something.

Once they were all done, the reporter had shut off the camera and said, “I’ll have to fact check before this goes anywhere.” Then she’d spun on her heel and left.

Feeling grossly inconsequential after the apparent dismissal, Feyre had suggested they all go home for the night.

Sensing her disappointment, Rhys had pulled her to the side while the others looked the other way as if they weren’t straining their ears to listen. Busybodies.

“It might work, Feyre.”

“She thinks we’re crazy.”

Rhys’ lips quirked. “Well I must admit, we surely sound the part. But really, Feyre, even if this goes nowhere… at least you’ll have some form of piece of mind in the fact that you didn’t give up. You did a very brave thing just now.”

“Me? Rhys, you didn’t need to…” Feyre trailed off.

“But I wanted to. You look tired. We should go.”

The abrupt change in subject was commonplace with Rhys, and Feyre accepted his desire to end the conversation with a nod.

Then the group had dispersed, Rhys and Cassian back to the townhouse in their car; Mor, Lucien, and Feyre to the apartment in Mor’s.

Feyre had thought it would be difficult to sleep, as was usual for her, but she drifted off quickly, still tired from the incident that had put her in the hospital.

Now it was the next morning, and Feyre was dreading the thought of getting out of bed.

Reluctantly, Feyre groaned and slid out of the sheets, nearly falling on the floor. What a week. Hell, what a year.

The smell of bacon had Feyre scrambling up, pulling on sweatpants over her underwear, and deciding her tank top was decent enough.

She opened the door and made her way down the hall, stopping quickly in the bathroom on the way there. By the time she reached the kitchen, the scent of bacon had taken over the apartment and Feyre was just about drooling.

“Fey!” Mor squealed when Feyre came in. Her tireless enthusiasm never failed to cheer Feyre up.

She smiled. At some point in time, her forced grimaces had turned into real, thoughtlessly brought about grins. This was extremely encouraging.

“Hey, Mor. Bacon almost ready?”

Mor whacked Feyre with the back of her hand. “That’s the first thing you say? Ungrateful bitch.”

Feyre grinned as a voice from the living room called, “She said ‘hey’ first, actually.”

“Semantics,” Mor grumbles, turning her attention back to the food.

“I’m sparring with Cassian soon. Try to make it snappy,” Feyre said, just to annoy Mor further.

Mor just threw a towel her. “Hooligans!”

Laughing, Feyre left the room and took a seat next to Lucien on the couch. “What are you looking at?”

Her tone was casual, but from the shady look Lucien gave her as she entered the room and the way he tried to subtly turn his laptop screen away from her line of sight, she was interested in what exactly he was doing.

“Just… ah… checking the channel of that reporter lady.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected an answer that easily, and from the unsteady tone of his voice, she knew he was lying. “Oh, really? Anything about last night posted?”

“What? Oh, not that I know of. I mean no. There isn’t.” Lucien scooted his laptop farther.

Feyre dropped on the couch and stuck her head over to view the screen. With anyone else, she would have considered this rude, but Lucien was like a brother to her. She was allowed to be annoying and nosy at times.

Feyre only managed to catch a small glimpse of the screen before Lucien spun his laptop sideways, but it was enough to make Feyre gasp.

“Lucien Vanserra, are you and Azriel sexting?”

His blush confirmed it, and Feyre burst into laughter.

A startled squeal from the other room sounded. “Is he really? With my dear Az? He’s corrupted my bestie!”

Feyre just laughed harder and Lucien muttered something about Azriel starting it.

“Lies! Slander! He would never,” Mor exclaimed, coming in with a plate of bacon. “Azriel is the sweetest little man you ever did see.”

Lucien snorted. “There are many words I can think of the describe that man, and sweet is not one of them.”

Feyre giggled and Mor made a face. “I don’t want any part in this conversation.”

Feyre snatched a piece of bacon off the plate and munched on it happily. She knew how to cook the basics, and she’d made bacon plenty of times before, but Mor could somehow make even the simplest foods better. Living with a chef was a type of heaven Feyre had never anticipated needing.

“Andi’s coming back today. She thought I should let you know.”

“Great. How’s Weaver doing?” Feyre asked anxiously.

“A bit better, I think. She seems to have come to terms with Dr. Suriel’s death, or so Andi says,” Mor replied.

Feyre was glad to hear both that Weaver was improving and Andromache was returning. Mor had only had just over a week with her before the incident, and Feyre was longing to see the smile that Andi had caused return to Mor’s face.

They all finished off the bacon and Feyre grabbed her bag. Then she headed to the gym.

Cassian had asked her yesterday at the hospital if she was up to training today, and after doing absolutely nothing to defend herself from an attacker the day prior, she had given him an eager yes.

Now he was waiting for her at the front desk, chatting with Nuala, one of the two receptionists that alternated. Feyre had been confused shitless when, after weeks of thinking she was talking to Cerridwen (who she had initially been introduced to) every time, she saw the two of them together.

“Twins,” one of them - which, Feyre wasn’t sure - had said in response to her expression. Feyre was mortified but they seemed amused and used to the confusion.

For the longest time after that, Feyre had tried to find a difference between them. They’d eventually taken pity on her and pointed out a small and faint, but still noticeable, birthmark just below Nuala’s left ear.

This is the first thing she noticed today, and she greeted the woman, along with Cassian.

Cassian, who couldn’t believe that they had revealed their secret difference to Feyre. Apparently they’d let him make a fool of himself for years before telling him about the birthmark, that for some reason, you could only see if you were actively looking for it. To which they had replied by saying Nuala could just let her hair down to cover the mark and if they wanted to mess with Feyre. They were a lot more devious than their quiet demeanor first suggested, it seemed.

Feyre stopped reminiscing as she and Cassian reached their private room. She wanted to be focused today.

So many previous lessons had left Feyre frustrated at her lack of ability, but not today. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Rhys yesterday. How Feyre had realized that she no longer blamed herself for what was happening. Perhaps that was the cause of her lack of self-pity, but whatever it was, Feyre was grateful for it.

Because she wasn’t distracted by the overwhelming sense on uselessness today. No, Feyre was kicking ass right now.

All Cassian did to acknowledge the newfound ferociousness was raise an eyebrow and keep swinging. Feyre sidestepped and dodged blow after blow. Not that she was at Cassian’s level now; he was definitely going easy on her. But Feyre was feeling a clear improvement, and it left her heart a little less heavy.

Apparently done with coddling her, Cassian knocked Feyre’s feet out from under her. No surprise there. But what did seem to surprise him was that instead of sighing in defeat, Feyre twisted her body on the floor.

Her feet used the momentum to sweep Cassian’s own feet right out from under him. He allowed himself a split-second of shock before moving his body enough so that even though he fell, he was able to roll and land back on his feet.

But Feyre wasn’t deterred. She had used the small amount of time to get back on her feet. Now she charged.

With a ridiculous yell fit for the battle fields, Feyre leapt at Cassian. He was still facing the other way, and while Feyre’s war cry had alerted him, he didn’t have the time to turn or sidestep before she made contact.

Knowing her small weight would likely not be enough to know Cassian down, she chose to jump on his back instead of attempting to bowl him over. Feyre now had her legs around his waist piggy-back style.

He let out a surprised snort. “Seriously? You have an opportunity and you decide to do that?”

Feyre scoffed. “Excuse me, I could strangle you.”

She let one arm go around his neck for emphasis, his neck in the crook of her elbow, but she decided against actually squeezing.

Cassian laughed. What nerve.

“What, you think I couldn’t? I could choke you to death. I could snap your puny little neck like a pencil.”

Cassian doubled over laughing. “Feeling a bit of bloodlust at the moment, Feyre?”

She almost yelped at the sudden change in position. “Stop it, I’m going to fall.”

Cassian tried to stop laughing. Barely. “Is that what you’re going to say to an attacker when they bend over in an attempt to throw you off? ‘Stop, please, I’m going to fall’?”

Feyre just about growled. Oh, she was absolutely feral today. “Excuse me, I already won. I’ve got my arm around your throat, you little fucker. I could kill you if I wanted-”

One moment Feyre was on Cassian’s back, the next on the floor. There was no in between.

She gaped up at him. “Fuck.”

Cass was smirking. “I didn’t know you could be so savage.”

Feyre scowled. “I almost had you.”

The smirk was replaced by a grin. “I won’t agree with that statement, but I can say you did good. Knocked me off my feet for fuck’s sake. I can’t remember the last time a student’s done that.”

“Never underestimate your opponent, Cass,” Feyre cooed in a mocking replication of his instructor voice.

He chuckled and extended an arm, helping Feyre to her feet. “That was badass, Archeron. Those fuckers won’t know what hit ’em.”

Feyre let out a girlish giggle, excited by the compliment.

“Hey, class is just about over, but listen,” Cassian started. His tone got a bit more serious. “What happened yesterday, with the reporter, that was badass too. You’re so fucking brave.”

Feyre blushed. “I am no such thing.”

“You are, Feyre. And I don’t want to hear another fucking word of protest.”

“But I’m not-”

“La la la,” Cassian said, putting his hands over his ears.

“Stop that. You’re such a child.” Feyre crossed her arms.

Cassian just hummed louder. “What was that? Feyre Archeron’s the coolest bitch around? I totally agree.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, I’m awesome. Stop being annoying.”

Cassian grinned. “Me? Never.”

She just smiled and headed toward the door. “You’re awful.”

“Don’t forget it!” he called after her.

Feyre laughed as she exited the room. Gods, Cassian was chaotic and ridiculous and downright impossible sometimes, but she loved him for it. He was a damn good friend.

Lost in her thoughts - Feyre? Distracted? What was the world coming to? - she ran into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That was my fault, I… Rhys.” Feyre ended that sentence rather awkwardly, at a loss of what to say. “I didn’t know you were… here.” Obviously. Feyre slapped herself internally.

He winced. “Yeah, I was working out.”

It was at this moment that Feyre realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She’d just, like, pressed her body against… that. Fucking gods.

“And you don’t need to apologize, you’re totally fine.” Oh, he was still speaking. Feyre’s brain tried to catch up.

“And shit, that was my fault too. Did I get you all sweaty?”

Feyre froze.

Rhys seemed to realize what he’d just said, or so Feyre gathered from the reddening of his face. “I didn’t mean… um… you know what I meant.”

“Yeah.” Feyre’s voice was embarrassingly weak. “I don’t think so. Well I should-”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Rhys didn’t seem to have a lot of input at the moment. Not that Feyre was adding much to the conversation.

Feyre’s eyes were glued to Rhys’ face in an attempt not to look down at his glorious bare chest.

Glorious? Feyre thought. Jeez, I’m starting to sound like I’m writing a cheep porno.

She smiled. “Well it was nice seeing you.” Feyre didn’t know what she looked like right now, but there was no fucking way that sounded sincere. More like an awkward dismissal than anything.

Rhys smiled an equally false smile and said, “Yep.”

Humiliated and confused, Feyre turned away. Only to find Tarquin unwittingly walking up to the pair of them, his eyes on his phone. He glanced up and his eyes widened. “Feyre, hey! I was wondering if I would get to see you today.”

Feyre could feel the tension oozing out of Rhys, even though her back was to him. She thought back to the mysterious encounter they’d had and she wondered, for the billionth time, what had gone down.

She flashed a genuine, but slightly nervous, smile. “Hi.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Rhys.

“I should go. Have a nice day, Feyre. Tarquin.”

Feyre looked back at Tarquin, who looked absolutely stunned. The poor man probably hadn’t anticipated seeing his boss at the gym with his shirt off.

“Bye,” he half-spoke, half-squeaked.

Feyre winced internally.

As soon as Rhys was a healthy distance away, she said, “Hey, do you know what happened about a week ago with Rhys? I was on the phone with him while he was in his office, and then he had to hang up, and when he called back he said you delivered some papers. He seemed… I just wondered if something occurred that you know about.”

Tarquin looked honestly petrified, caught in the barrage of Feyre’s ranting questions.

“I’m not sure.”

He was lying. Feyre could be pretty oblivious, but she wasn’t so blind that she couldn’t tell he was lying. But this was Tarquin. Sweet Tarquin who fed her ice cream when she was upset. She had no right to pry, and he was entitled to a secret.

So Feyre just said, “Okay, just curious. I need to run, but it was nice seeing you.” She tried to keep her tone as sincere as possible; Tarquin hadn’t been anything but nice to her, and he deserved to be treated well by Feyre, not pushed to the side.

Tarquin looked immensely relieved to be let off the hook. “You too. Bye.”

Feyre smiled and headed toward the exit. Fuck, what on earth was happening?

She was so distracted by this troubling situation that she didn’t even notice all the glances she got in the street. Feyre marched right by the sideways looks and mutters, oblivious to the fact that last night’s confession on camera had not, in fact, been for naught.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen // @feysand-loml // @infernoqueen19 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @midsizewitch // @story-scribbler // @thebonecarver // @whythefuckdoiexist

#feysand #acotar #the bet #my writing

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

Neon In The Nighttime

Summary: It's the end of the word as we know it. A west coast baker and the drummer of a metal band team up in Boston, MA thinking they're one of the last few people left alive after a viral outbreak turns those infected into blood hungry monsters.

Their destination: Los Angeles, California- the last place Lucien's eldest brother was living while gearing up for a presidential run. Lucien is desperate to escape the memories of his past life and what he had to do when his wife, Jes, became infected. Elain wants to try and reclaim the fractured pieces of the life she remembers before everything went to hell.

Read on AO3

Before:

Something was blocking the tunnel.

Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel of her car, Elain wondered how much longer she’d be trapped in the dark. The orange glow of the lights bounced off her tinted windows, casting long, looming shadows against the dark interior. She’d turned the radio off a good ten minutes before, frustrated with the upbeat pop music pouring through the speakers while she remained frozen in place growing more frustrated by the second.

She had no cell service in the tunnel that might have passed the time. No way to tell her father she was running late or to call a friend and complain. Just Elain and her thoughts—and lately, Elain had been trying to avoid those, too.

Everything was falling apart. Trapped in the dark, she supposed now was as good of a time as any to reflect on her many failings. Elain had mapped out her entire life when she’d been ten years old. Sure, she’d done it in glitter gel pen and maybe she’d had to adjust some things—she was never going to be princess of any country, and thank God for that—but for the most part, those loopy scrawled plans were tattooed on her brain.

Finish school.

Get married.

Have kids.

She’d finished school, she’d gotten a rather good job at a museum which had helped her finance her even better job at the bakery she owned. And she was supposed to be getting married, too. That was where the shiny paint on her shiny life started to peel away. Graysen wasn’t a bad man. Not really. Disinterested, sure. And married to his tech job, absolutely. He was also very obviously in love with his best friends girlfriend, though he would have denied it if she’d accused him of such.

Again.

Her father was sick, had picked up some virus he couldn’t shake and Elain hadn’t complained at all when Feyre and Nesta had called, asking if she’d go check on him.

He’s getting old, Nesta had said, her implications clear. Maybe he needed more supportive care now that mom was gone. Someone should arrange that. And though both Nesta and Feyre were far closer to their fathers Virginia Beach home up in New York City, it had been Elain, all the way from San Diego, who’d flown back to handle it.

She hadn’t even been mad like she might have been in the past. Elain needed to clear her head of Graysen and her impending marriage. Did she want to be married to a man that couldn’t remember her birthday but could drop everything to pick up Laura from the airport on a random Tuesday afternoon? And did she want to always be competing with someone so effortlessly beautiful? What happened when Laura and Tom broke up? Would Graysen throw their marriage away, kids and all, for a shot at his dream girl? She felt insane. Pressing her forehead to the steering wheel, Elain accidentally honked at the person in front of her, which led to a rolled down window and a middle finger pointed right at her.

She deserved that. Sighing, Elain fiddled with the radio, ignoring the static until finally there was music again. California Girls could blow her, actually. She didn’t change the song, though her mood only worsened. Uphead, someone laid on their horn, likely just as furious as she was becoming.

There was traffic and then there was whatever this was. Someone going too fast, staring at their phone, and now they had to wait for a tow truck to make its way in. Elain missed nothing about this place. Three cars ahead, someone had opened their door and was yelling something at another driver.

The song ended abruptly, sooner than she remembered. Only half paying attention, Elain didn’t catch the first part of the of the radio jockey’s joking words.

“...Chesapeake Bay Bridge is still closed due to a pile up. If you can, take another route, folks! It doesn’t look like it’s gonna clear anytime soon.”

Elain emitted a soft scream, shaking her steering wheel beneath her white knuckle grip. Of course there would be an accident, and while she felt for the people involved, she also hated them a little, too. Elain might have voiced this somehow, might have joined the people just leaving their cars had the strangest thing not have happened.

Someone was running. Weaving through traffic without a shirt and stained with a substance Elain couldn’t see well. The guy who’d left his own car a few up shouted something at that bare chested woman.

And in true, New England fashion, she screamed in return. High pitched and furious, garbled from whatever substance she’d likely ingested. Elain was surprised when the woman lunged for him, slamming him up against his car.

“Did she…” Elain watched, heart pounding as the strangers mouth latched to the angry mans neck. Shaking her head, the woman shook him around like a dog with a rabbit, ripping his throat out with her teeth. Too late, Elain realized it was blood staining her bare chest.

“HEY!” The guy in front of her got out of his vehicle, brandishing a gun. “Lady! Get off him!”

Elain screamed when that gun was pointed, when the sound of a bullet echoed through those dark tunnel walls. He was close enough he’d aimed well, hitting her square in the chest, for all the good it did. She lunged again, teeth sinking against his forearm.

“BITCH!” he roared, shooting again. Elain couldn’t drag her eyes away from the way her head seemed to cave in around itself or how blood splattered in every direction, including her windshield.

The man in front of her turned, wild-eyed and terrified, still holding the gun in one hand. His arm dripped blood to the asphalt below.

“I…” Elain only shook her head through the window, wincing when more shouting and more bullets echoed from somewhere in the distance. What was happening? Dread prickled along the back of her neck, keeping Elain strapped beneath her seatbelt even as another blood soaked interloper raced through the parked cars in the tunnel.

That person was shot down, too. More people had begun to flee their cars, turning back the way they’d came rather than wait to see what—or who—might step from the darkness. Elain hesitated. Leaving seemed foolish—she had miles before she was above ground again, and beyond that, this was a rental. But on the other…there were three dead bodies now lying between her car and her destination, and no possibility she was going to see her dad that day.

And when the man with the bleeding arm pounded against her driver side window and said, “You and me, lady. Let's go!” Elain unbuckled herself, cut the ignition, and got out of her car.

“You’re not a nurse by any chance?” he asked, eyeing her hopefully.

“Baker,” she said, not daring to look too close at the bite wound on his arm. She might be sick if she did. “What was that?”

“Fuck if I know,” he replied, wincing as he pressed at his skin. “There was nothing in those eyes, though. Just…she was like some kind of fucking zombie. Never heard of a drug that did that to people.”

Neither had Elain. “Should we leave our cars?”

“Look, it’s your funeral if you stay,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Fear laced his every word, and though this man looked like he could handle himself, something about the way he clutched that gun made him seem small somehow. “But I’m not sticking around to find out what that bitch was on, or if she brought more friends.”

His words were punctuated by the sound of loud, terrified screaming and more bullets from people like the man standing in front of her. How many people in the tunnel had brought a gun? And how many would use it before the day was over?

“My name is Elain,” she told him, slamming her car door behind her. An exodus of people was happening as others, clearly shaken by the death happening so close to them. It was easy to fall into step with the others, to wind among the cars still hoping to get to their destination.

“George,” he replied, wincing again. “She fucking bit me good.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” Elain told him, glancing at her cell phone. No service still, which shouldn’t have surprised her. “We can call for 911 when we’re above ground.”

“You’ll tell them—”

“Yeah,” she agreed, catching the relief flood his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Always wondered what it would be like,” he confided. Orange gilded the guilt not lining his weathered face, casting him in a near demonic light in the dark. “Killing someone, I mean. Used to think it would be like the movies.”

She was going to be sick. Forcing herself to keep walking, Elain pressed her lips together.

“It’s not,” he confided, his voice cracking. “It’s nothing like the movies.”

A cruel part of her wanted to tell him that anyone with a brain could have guessed that. Of course there was a peculiar kind of horror to taking another life, deserved or otherwise. It wouldn’t have helped the man beside her, pallid and slick with sweat as he was. He looked as though he might fall to his knees and begin sobbing, and Elain didn’t think she was equipped to help him.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. No one spoke as they walked, eyes focused straight ahead. More people joined, leaving car doors open to walk with the crowd and when the sound of bullets echoed behind them, shoulders tensed and children wailed, but not one person said another word.

The man beside her had begun to shuffle by the time they’d reached the entrance. Elain was exhausted and wrung out, checking her phone every few seconds, desperate to get a text to her sisters.

Something is wrong in Virginia. Someone attacked a man, ripped out his throat. I’ll check on dad another day, planning to come home. Can one of you meet me at the airport?

Beside her, the man doubled over, grunting as he slammed to his knees. Elain hated how she hesitated, hated even more that part of her wanted to leave him there. She wasn’t the only one. The crowd parted around them like water against a rock, though she and a few others had halted, trying to decide if they’d drag him out or not.

“Are you okay?”

He looked up at her, the sunlight casting his pale face in stark relief. Only his eyes were illuminated, the rest hidden in the orangy darkness of the tunnel.The blue of his veins seemed to bulge while his eyes, once a lovely shade of green, seemed to be bleeding red.

Elain took a step back while he slid that gun between them. The metal bounced off her flats, resting between her two legs.

“Kill me,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “Do it.”

Elain shook her head back and forth, bile rising in her throat. The people who had stopped to help were now backing away from them both, their own fear so stark, so pungent she could taste it on her tongue.

The stranger—George, his name was George—lunged for her, mouth open and Elain screamed. Elbows slammed violently to the asphalt, jangling every nerve in her body. Elain reached for the gun, pressing the barrel to his forehead as he came atop her. In the daylight, Elain could see how red his gums were, how stained his teeth had become, or maybe always had been. Like he’d spent a lifetime smoking or something was rotting him from the inside out.

He snapped his jaw shut, the tendons in his neck practically bulging.

“Please,” he growled, his voice hoarse as if he’d been screaming. “Please, before I—”

Whatever light existed, whatever soul people possessed, winked out like a light. If she hadn’t been sprawled out on the ground, she wouldn’t have seen it. Elain didn’t think the people in the semi-circle around them had caught it. But George—the man who’d killed already and come to regret it, vanished and left behind nothing but a shell. Blood tinged teeth snapped at her like a rabid dog desperate for nothing but a taste of her skin.

She didn’t let herself think about it. Finger on the trigger, Elain squeezed, eyes closed tight. George fell to the ground, still twitching, eyes still wide open and staring.

And he’d been right.

Killing was nothing like the movies.

Now:

LUCIEN:

When the world went to shit, it had the decency to do it all at once. There was no soft whimper, no slow decline but merely a burning wildfire that spread hot through cities and killing indiscriminately. Lucien recalled those early reports of a virus and the warnings to isolate, to stay indoors and wear a mask whenever they needed to go out. And he remembered the endlessly opining of politicians, unconcerned with anything but reelection and their own bank accounts, getting on television to argue it was the end of America if they had to shut down for even a day.

How right they’d been, in the end. America as Lucien knew it was over.

A month after the first reports of what had happened in Virginia, the lights went out on the east coast and never came back on. He’d been touring with his band, The Exiles, at the time and had been desperate to get back to his wife. Lucien had driven until he couldn’t and walked the rest of the way—all the way to Boston, where Jes had been waiting.

Infected.

And Lucien would never forgive himself for what he’d had to do. Vacant, lifeless and yet still moving, still seeing—she’d tried to rip his throat out and Lucien had killed her. Had left her body bleeding in the kitchen of their shared apartment, bought with the money his label had given him when they’d sold their record.

He hadn’t known if he could touch her long enough to bury her and in the end, he’d simply left her behind. And for months afterwards, he’d camped out in the building across the street, alternating between wishing he had the guts to kill himself, crying and screaming and destroying the now empty walls he was trapped in, and devising a plan.

The last time he’d seen his elder brother had been in Los Angeles. A Senator of California gearing up for a third run and thinking of presidency, one day, Eris had urged Lucien to relocate to California.

It’s safer out here.

Eris had been one of the few people in those early days arguing it was better to be safe, to distance socially rather than lose lives needlessly. And if Eris had survived the early days, Lucien knew he’d still be alive now. A year had passed since Lucien had come back, a year since he’d last looked at Jesminda’s empty brown eyes and pulled the trigger of the gun he’d stolen off a body in Georgia.

He couldn’t keep going like this. Jes wasn’t coming back, and the life he’d once fought so desperately for wasn’t, either. This new world was something else, something new and terrible and still beating its putrid, stinking heart.

And fate, if such a thing existed, had decided to spare him. What good was it to sit in an apartment that had once belonged to someone, staring out a window missing the wife who had died while he’d been fucking around on tour? There was no saving Jes, and maybe no saving himself, either.

But he couldn’t kill himself, and he couldn’t spend another New England winter without heat. The streets had been empty for weeks by the time Lucien stepped into the muggy, summer weather. The scent of rotting sewage was overwhelming, gagging him the moment he was outdoors. Pulling the neck of his black shirt up over his nose, Lucien made his way down the sidewalk toward a parking garage. He had keys in his hand, stolen from the family apartment he’d been squatting in.

He prayed for anything but a minivan, and in the end was rewarded with a black pick-up truck that had three quarters of a tank still. It wasn’t enough to get him to California, but it was enough to get him the fuck out of Boston.

He’d always liked camping. Maybe he’d get a tent, fuck off to the wilderness, and hike his way to California when he ran out of gas. The thought pulled Lucien from his self-loathing just long enough to convince him to stop at a large box store for supplies. He had no money, and needed none, either. The lights were off, the door barricaded, and the parking lot long abandoned. Lucien was used to it.

Prying open the sliding glass doors, Lucien didn’t bother offering a greeting. He’d used to in the early days, back when people had taken to squatting in stores where there was an abundance of available food. Violent gang wars broke out over non-perishable items and anyone with sense moved on. There was no sense in losing your life over shelf-stable green beans, after all.

Lucien exhaled, ignoring how the store smelled like mildew and how light didn’t penetrate through the filthy windows anymore. There had once been a deal on strawberries—two for five—back when you could walk in and get a plastic container on your way home from work. There was no produce left, either eaten or rotted away to nothing. Flies buzzed around his head, swatted as he continued down the aisles, ignoring food in favor of a rolled up sleeping bag and somehow, a rather nice tent untouched, and yet dusty, in the box. Lucien pulled it all apart just to be sure there were no missing pieces and when he found there wasn’t, he almost smiled.

Almost.

Because behind him, the sound of a hammer pulled. He hadn’t heard whoever was lurking until he felt the cold kiss of steel against his temple. Swallowing his fear and the urge to thank this person for putting him out of his misery, Lucien very slowly raised his hands. “No harm done.”

“Yet,” came a delicate female voice. “Turn around. Let me see your eyes.” Slowly, Lucien turned only to be confronted with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t her. She looked as if she should have died in those early days of chaos and the gun still pressed to his head seemed wildly out of place in her fair, slender hands.

Brown eyes flecked with gold surveyed him, her full lips pressed in a thin line. Her golden brown hair was twisted off a, frankly, stunning face with a pretty pink ribbon. Tight, black leggings and an oversized Who's Your Laddy shirt told Lucien this woman had likely been living here a while, picking through whatever was left—which seemed to be the seasonal clothing, if nothing else.

It worked for her, though.

Still crouched to the ground, Lucien waited for her assessment. “How do you feel?” she demanded, eyes sweeping over his form.

“Besides the gun against my head?” he asked pointedly. She didn’t bother to look sorry, though she did pull it away. Lucien didn’t even blame her for it—this was how she’d survived, surely.

Shoot first, ask questions later. “I’m not sick.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she replied, her bottom lip wavering a little. He rose, drinking her in as he showed her his hands.

“Want to check me for scratches?” “If you’re lying, you have maybe an hour. Two if you’re lucky. I’m so tired of killing, just…just go,” she whispered, looking up at him through dark, thick lashes.

“I’m not. I promise,” he added, unsure why it felt important he do so. “My name is Lucien.”

“Elain,” she replied, tucking the gun beneath her arm. Lucien was tempted to take it from her and didn’t want to risk a bullet between his eyes.

Elain took a step back while Lucien gathered up his open tent box and the rolled up blue sleeping bag. There was a purple one just beside it, the last one on the shelf. He grabbed that, too, just for good measure.

“Elain,” he repeated, wondering if she’d join him in California or he’d leave her here. A slithering sense of relief filled his empty chest at the thought of company—of someone to talk to after a year of raging silence. “Where are you from, Elain?”

That bottom lip quivered again. “San Diego…or Virginia Beach, technically. I was visiting my dad when…”

Lucien tried not to think of the horror. Ships of infected sailors had come in through naval ports, while travelers had tracked it through airports. Major naval bases had been hit just as hard as major cities, and Virginia Beach was still considered point zero for the outbreak.

“Ah.”

She fell into step beside him, trailing him toward the now empty registers where he could leave his equipment and grab some food, too. “How did you end up here?”

“I caught a ride with someone,” she admitted, her pretty eyes glassy in remembrance. Another friend she’d had to kill? “My sisters were in New York City.”

Lucien doubted they still were. One of the last images he’d ever seen was the chaos in the city—the infected running after screaming civilians, ripping people to the ground with their teeth. Eating them alive, feasting on the living. Lucien closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to banish the memory. He didn’t want to think about it, or what had happened to Jes while he’d been away.

“I doubt anyone is still in that shit hole city. Even the rats have probably gone by now,” Lucien said with a shrug. Elain trotted after him, grabbing red plastic basket helpfully.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“California. My brother was out there—I’m going to find him.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

Lucien sighed. “Eris is like one of those nuclear bomb proof roaches. There’s no way he’s dead. If anything, he’s probably the leader of some doomsday cult.”

“My sister Feyre was like that. Maybe they found each other.”

Lucien could only shrug. In a different world, a different life, he might have offered her a shred of hope or comfort. Now, though, all he had was frank honesty. Her sisters were probably dead, just like his brother, and only the fear of being alone kept them from admitting it to themselves.

“You want a ride?” he asked before he could think better of it. Elain reached toward a dusty shelf and slid every can of pinto beans into her arms before letting the cans tumble into the basket.

Lucien took it from her, certain it was miserably heavy.

“To your cult leader brother?” There was a hint of humor to her words that almost made him relax.

“Or to start our own,” he replied, offering her half a smile. “I’m not picky.”

“What are you, then?” she asked, peering up at him with curiosity. Her gun was still tucked beneath her armpit, a reminder that for all the sweetness oozing from her lithe form, this woman was a killer.

A survivor.

“Tired of talking to myself,” he finally admitted. What else was there to say? Lucien didn’t know what he was or even who he was anymore. A drummer in a band that no longer existed. The youngest son of a dynasty that could be traced further back as far as most European royalty. A husband who’d taken the life of the very woman he’d sworn to protect.

Was he a survivor, too? He didn’t feel like it, but maybe he was. Maybe by virtue of standing before her, arm laden with beans and the gun she carefully set atop her cans, Lucien, too, was a survivor.

He knew he’d be disappointed if she said no, though.

Elain offered him a shy smile. “Alright, Lucien. But I get to lead the cult. None of this co-leader stuff.”

He grinned.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #this is JUST LIKE holy ground except everything is on fire and everyone is suffering

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snelbz · 4 years

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What Happens in Vegas... {2}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz / @tacmc collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

I still had a massive headache, but it didn’t seem to be near as painful as anything my father was feeling. The afternoon, and well into the evening, had been pure chaos. After I had come clean about why reporters were constantly flooding the front lawn of my childhood home, I had gotten a talking-to that made me feel like I was fifteen and caught sneaking out of the house.

Again.

And after the scolding had come to an end, we were all just exhausted, and trying to wait it out. The police had shown up on multiple occasions, clearing the yard of people and cameras, but it didn’t stop them from coming back, or from reporters knocking on the front door, asking questions. The landline had rang so much that my father had unplugged it, which should have been done years ago, considering how far the modern world had come, but I could tell it caused him physical pain.

“Dad-.”

“You should go to bed,” he said, quietly, as he rubbed his temples from where he sat on the couch. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“I’m not tired,” I mumbled, although it was a complete lie. Yet, I couldn’t imagine going to sleep.

His cell rang, cutting off anything else that he would have said. At this time of night, a call on his cell couldn’t be a good thing.

“Hello?”

I heard the faintest of voices on the other line.

His eyes snapped up, pinning me to the spot where I sat. I felt my blood run cold.

“No, sir, I think we all completely understand under the circumstances.”

No.

No, no, no.

“Yes. Yes, sir, you as well.”

He slowly pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call. “That was Beron Vanserra. Your internship has been cancelled.”

My eyes fell shut as my head fell back and rested against the plush couch.

His voice wasn’t angry, and that made it all the more worse. He was disappointed. “He feels that, considering your current situation, it could bring the wrong kind of attention to his business.”

A banging on the door interrupted our conversation, but by this point a banging on the door was white noise. There’d been people banging on the front door all day.

It wasn’t just paparazzi out front, there were also tons and tons of fans. People were crying and screaming and holding signs. They ranged from proclamations of love for Rhys to depicting my death in graphic detail.

Apparently, later they were planning on burning me in effigy.

Which was fine, I wanted to die.

A voice came from the other side of the front door. “Ms. Archeron?”

We ignored the voice since, once again, people had been screaming my name from the other side all day. However, this voice wasn’t screaming. It was calm, cool and collected.

“Ms. Archeron, Rhys sent me.”

I blinked and made my way to the door, fearing my mother would hear me hollering and wake up from her Xanax induced sleep.

“I’m calling the cops again,” I announced.

He quickly said, “Please, ma’am. I have him on the phone.” I paused. “Just crack open the door and I’ll hand you the phone.”

Yeah, right. “Why should I believe you?”

Murmuring from the other side of the door. “He said to ask you about his t-shirt.”

I blushed. I’d washed his vomit covered shirt before we left Vegas and it was still damp in my backpack by the door.

I shook my head, though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Not good enough.”

More murmuring. “He said he still didn’t want the… excuse me, miss… ‘fucking ring’ back.”

Yep. That sounded like my darling husband.

I crouched down and unlocked the mail slot in the door and flicked the door open.

A sleek black phone was handed through.

I sighed as I took it. “Hello?”

I was met with loud music and endless voices in the background of wherever Rhysand was. Unlike myself, it seems our marriage hadn’t thrown him off his typical routine.

“I hear you’ve gotten famous overnight,” a familiar voice purred. “You may want to lay low for a while until this all blows over. Trust me. So, I sent Kallias to come and get you.”

I blinked, not sure if I was hearing correctly. “Sorry, what?”

“Kallias, the guy on your front porch? He’s head of my security team. He came to bring you back to me. And we’ll, uh, figure something out when you get here.”

I laughed, not only because it was a ridiculous request, but because my life was a running, never ending, unimaginable, cosmic joke, and I was having an incredibly difficult time making sense of it.

“You want me...to be brought...to you?” I said, slowly, making sure I had it right. “I don’t know you, much less where you even are.”

“Look,” he began, with a sigh. “There’s divorce papers and shit to sign anyway. You may as well come here so we can get this all taken care of.”

As much as I really, really didn’t want to go, I wanted to get this fiasco away from my parents house and their poor front lawn. I also wasn’t looking forward to my mother waking up and having to tell her I’d lost my internship.

My five year plan went out the window. Hell, so did my ten year plan. It was pretty contingent on the five year plan and that was contingent on this internship. But I could see a new plan forming.

I’d worked at the same art supply store for years. Painting was my true passion, the thing I yearned for more time for. I never seemed to have it, and without this internship, my architectural dreams were over. I could pick up more shifts at the store, maybe come on full-time. Alis would love that.

She wouldn’t, however, love the horde of crazed fans I’d bring to her quaint, little shop.

He sighed, and even over the phone, I could feel his eyes roll. “What else are you going to do? Hide in your parents’ house?”

I stood up straight. “How do you know I’m at my parents’?”

“Because I’m watching the live stream on TMZ.”

Decision made. I had to get out of here for the sake of my parents.

I unlocked the door, even as my father said, “Feyre, don’t.”

I opened the door a hair, just enough for Kallias to see it was open and slip in. He did so and shut the door behind him quickly.

Rhysand remained quiet on the other side of the line as I looked at my father and said, “I’ll be back, but when everything calms down. You and mom don’t need this, and I need to take care of some stuff.”

Rhysand’s hum reminded me that he was, in fact, listening yet to our conversation.

“You can’t trust him,” my father snapped, begging me to see reason. “You don’t even know him! Look at all that’s happened. This is not what you need.”

I stared at him for a moment, suddenly becoming sad. I had no idea what I needed.

“I’ll be back,” I repeated, and Rhysand had become quiet, because he had lost interest or because he was so fascinated with my father and I’s vulnerability, I didn’t know.

“We can handle this here,” he said, trying to reason with me. “You’ll need your own lawyers and-.”

“It’s not like I have anything to lose, dad,” I breathed. Which, I didn’t. My poor husband was inheriting nearly fifty thousand in student loans. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.

A change in his face told me he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“I’ll be alright, I promise,” I said, not caring if Rhys was still listening or not. I couldn’t really keep that promise because I had no idea what I was walking into.

He shook his head, but said “I think you’re doing the wrong thing. But call me if you need anything. If you want to come home, I’ll organize a flight for you right away.”

I nodded. “I will.”

“I’m serious,” he rested a hand on my shoulder and looked in my eyes, the eyes I’d inherited from my mother. “Call me and I’ll get you home.”

“Feyre?”

So apparently he had been listening. “Yeah?”

Rhys said, “Give the phone back to Kal.”

I did as I was told and the man watched me with eyes the color of fractured ice. I could hear Rhys rattling off instructions, Kallias dutifully nodding and saying yes, sir where appropriate. And then he hung up.

“Ms. Archeron, the car is waiting.”

I nodded and glanced back to my father.

“One call,” was all he said. Instead of replying, I threw my arms around him and held him tightly.

His arms came around me, but then he cleared his throat and stepped back.

Moment over. Got it.

I picked up my backpack and turned around to face Kallias and the front door. He was patiently waiting.

“Ready?”

No.

“Yes.”

He opened the door and we rushed out into the chaos.

I was surprised at how many people were still on the front lawn. People screamed at me from all different angles, some in encouragement and love and adoration, and some out of pure hatred. A girl a few years younger than myself called me a cunt and told me I didn’t deserve Rhysand’s love. The fact that she had my husband’s face on her shirt was the first sign that I shouldn’t take anything she said seriously, but in the moment, that was harder than it should have been.

Once I was in the car, the door shut behind me, I let loose a breath. Kallias was in the car a moment later, only to be followed by people banging on the car windows. I groaned, sinking lower into my seat.

I was over it.

I wanted it to be done.

And it had only just begun.

As the car moved, fans began running alongside it, and I wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to be famous.

Eventually, we began to move too fast, and we left everyone behind.

I had just nearly gotten comfortable in the backseat when I realized I wouldn’t be comfortable for long, because I was on my way to see Rhysand.

My loving husband.

—————

I was asleep before we were even in the air.

We’d boarded the most lavish private plane I’d ever seen, Kallias had offered me champagne — which I declined — and then I found myself a nice corner to sit in.

Next thing I knew, Kallias was tapping me on the shoulder. “Ms. Archeron, we’re here.”

The private jet had landed on a runway on the far end of the town at a small airport. I supposed not having to go through the chaos of a big airport was a perk in all this.

One of the very few perks, anyway.

After being led off the plane, I was brought to another car and driven through town. The nightlife was lively, people walking hand in hand down the streets of downtown, or in large groups.

I rolled down my window to hear the music as we passed by bars, and the hustle and bustle of excitement and conversation.

Nearly twenty minutes later, we were driving down a long, winding driveway, up to one of the biggest houses I had ever seen.. If I hadn’t been so exhausted and shell shocked, I would have loved to admire it. As it was, I was too busy taking in the crowd around me.

The doors were open and people were spilling out. There were two girls making out on the front steps and Kallias stepped around them as if they were ornamentation on the front lawn. I did my best not to stare.

There were people everywhere, milling about, talking, drinking, dancing, making out. You name it, it was happening in the house. For the first time in twenty-four hours, I wasn’t the person everyone was staring at.

Except for one person who had noticed me and he had a grin on his face.

Kallias headed towards him and as we approached I noticed how huge he was.

With a sigh, that nearly seemed annoyed, Kallias began, “Feyre, this is-.”

“Cassian,” the newcomer said, hand outstretched. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

My cheeks heated as he shook my hand, his hand nearly crushing my own.

“Um, nice to meet you,” I stammered.

“You too,” he said, his grin growing wider. “It’s nice to finally meet my best friend’s wife.” I opened my mouth to reply with a protest, but Cassian was turning to Kallias. “Don’t worry, Kal. I got it from here.”

Kallias looked at me, brow raised, and I gave him a curt nod before he disappeared to tend to whatever duties he had for the remainder of the night.

“Like parties?” Cassian asked, turning his back and starting to walk. I took it as a hint to follow.

“I-.” I’m not one for parties. Especially not parties like this, I was going to say, but thought better of it. “It’s pretty extravagant.”

“Almost as extravagant as a quick wedding in Vegas,” Cassian crooned, looking back at me over his shoulder.

If I thought I couldn’t have blushed any more, I would’ve been mistaken. My cheeks were burning.

“I always thought I would be his best man,” Cassian went on. “Shame. Although, I also thought he would’ve known his wife for more than three hours before he said his vows. So.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, but that’s not to say it was quiet. It was anything but. Everywhere I looked, I saw someone else that I vaguely recognized and then it would dawn on me that I was staring at the model from a billboard back home or the actor from that new action movie Joey had wanted to see.

A leggy blonde wearing a poor excuse for a dress bumped into me and nearly knocked me over. Cassian stopped and frowned at her as her tall frame walked away. “Some people have no manners. Come on.”

He led me towards the back of the house, through the dance floor, around a game of beer pong being played with champagne flutes — didn’t seem very efficient to me, but no asked, so — until we stepped out onto a porch.

And there he was, leaning against the iron railing. The strong lines of his face were in profile. Holy shit, how could I have forgotten? There was no explaining the full effect of Rhys in real life. He fit in with the beautiful people just fine. He was one of them. I, on the other hand, belonged in the kitchen with the waitstaff.

Before we could take another step closer, a tall, sun-kissed blonde in a bikini with a silver belly chain came up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Rhysand didn’t look directly at her, but, instead, he took a sip from his glass bottle.

A feeling surged within me, and I hated that feeling. It nearly felt like jealousy, although I knew that was absurd, because I couldn’t possibly feel jealous.

Could I?

No. It wasn’t jealous. Definitely not jealousy.

Not jealous.

I shook the feeling off, although it lingered, as Cassian said, “Rhys! Look who I found!”

Rhysand’s eyes found Cassian’s, then mine.

“Um, can you take me to my room?” I asked Cassian, under my breath.

Cassian looked at me, lifting a brow. “You don’t want to party?”

“I’m tired, it’s been a long day,” I answered. Not necessarily a lie, not at all. “I prefer to just go to bed.”

“Feyre.”

The sound of my name on his lips had me turning to look at him.

He was looking at me, that bottle still in his hand, the other one was gripping the iron railing he leaned on, rather than where it had been seconds before, on bikini girl’s hip.

Not that I noticed.

“Hi,” I breathed.

Cassian snorted. “She doesn’t say much, does she?”

“She speaks,” he said, eyes not leaving mine. The tone in which he said it made it clear that he wished I wouldn’t ever again.

I had expected things to be awkward, tense even. But outright disdain was something I was not used to.

The slender blonde pressed her body — including her obviously fake boobs — against Rhys, eyeing me. The chain around her waist made a tinkling noise. I guess she decided that since I was his wife, I was about to steal him and ruin her night.

Like that would happen.

I took a second to look at Rhys, to really look at him. It should be illegal to make a black t-shirt and ripped jeans look that good. He caught my gaze and straightened. His black army-style boots were crossed at the ankles, easy as you please, because he belonged here. I didn’t.

He glanced at Cassian. “You mind finding her a room?”

Cassian snorted and crossed his arms. “Do I look like your fucking butler? You’ll show your own wife to a room. Don’t be an asshole.”

“She’s not my wife,” Rhys growled.

“Every social media site and news channel in Prythian would disagree with you there.” He turned and gave me a little wave. “Catch you later, Feyre.”

He walked away and Rhys disentangled him from the blonde. She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, effectively pushing them up, but he paid her no attention. “Come on.”

He gestured toward the door and my eyes caught on something on the inside of his forearm that I hadn’t noticed that morning. In black ink, still red around the edges was one word:

Feyre .

“What?” His gaze followed mine and he said, “Ah, yeah, that. It’s whatever. Let’s go.”

“Hurry back, Rhysie,” the blonde cooed. I could have sworn I saw him roll his eyes, but he was off, heading for the door before I could be sure.

I pretended I hadn’t heard it, although the words replayed in my mind. I followed Rhysand inside, then through the crowd of people. I almost felt ridiculous, refusing to attend a party attended by the world’s elite. But, it wasn’t who I was, and I wasn’t going to pretend that I belonged there.

Hallways spread out in both directions up on the second floor. We went left, down to the end. He threw open a door and there my bag sat, waiting on a big king-size bed. Everything in the sumptuous room had been done in white: the bed, walls, and carpets. An antique white love seat sat in the corner. It was beautiful, pristine. Nothing like my small, cramped room back at the apartment I shared with Joey, where between the double bed and my desk, you had just enough room to get the cupboard door open, no more. This place went on and on, a sea of perfection.

“I’d better not touch anything,” I mumbled, hands tucked into my back pockets.

“What?”

“It’s lovely.”

Rhys looked around the room with nil interest. “Yeah.”

I wandered over to the windows. A luxurious pool sat below, well lit and surrounded by palm trees and perfect gardens.

“Listen, some people are going to come to talk to you about the divorce papers. They’ll be here at ten,” he said, hovering in the doorway. His fingers tapped out a beat on the doorframe. He kept casting longing looks down the hall, clearly impatient to be gone.

“Some people?”

“My lawyer and my manager,” he told his feet. “They’re rushing things, so… it’ll all be, ah, dealt with as fast as it can.”

“All right.” Rhys sucked in his cheeks and nodded. He had killer cheekbones. I’d seen men in fashion magazines that couldn’t have compared. But pretty or not, the frown never lifted. Not while I was around. It would have been nice to see him smile, just once. “You need anything?” he asked.

“No. Thank you for all this. For flying me down here and letting me stay. It’s very kind of you.”

“No worries.” He took a step back and started closing the door after him. “Night.”

He turned and opened the door, was halfway out, when I said, “Rhys, wait, shouldn’t we talk or something? About last night?”

He paused and said, “Seriously, Feyre? Why fucking bother?”

And then he was gone.

“I will,” I said, although it was far from true.

Again.

At least he hadn’t slammed the door this time, and I counted that as progress in our relationship. I sighed, letting out the breath I’d been holding. I was surprised to feel...disappointed. It’s not that I was expecting to hang out with him while I was here, but I didn’t expect to be sent to my room like a naughty child.

I made my way over to the window and looked out. A luxurious pool sat below, well lit and surrounded by palm trees and perfect gardens. Two people were in the water, making out. The woman’s head fell back and her breasts bobbed on the surface. Oh, no, my mistake. They were having sex. I could feel the heat creep up my neck and I almost turned away.

I would have, if I hadn’t noticed another couple heading for what I assumed was a pool house. The man was Rhys and the blonde hung off of him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and swaying her hips a little extra as she walked. She hurried ahead of him and stood in the doorway, before untying the strap of her top and letting it fall. She didn’t try to cover herself and he didn’t try to look away, just kept walking at the same pace until he’d reached her.

And when he did, he turned around and caught my eye.

I ducked around the wall and held my breath, feeling the blush creeping up my neck again. Not only had I caught them sneaking off to do the gods knew what, but he had caught me spying.

Except I wasn’t spying, I was just...appreciating the landscaping. Which is what I would tell him if he ever asked me about it.

If he ever spoke to me again, that is. I didn’t think that was too likely.

I looked around the room and was overwhelmed by the expense put into it. I’d be willing to bet this room alone cost as much as my apartment. I was scared to touch anything, to even sit on the white bedspread.

Who the hell has a white bedspread?

I dug through my backpack and plugged my phone in knowing it had died long ago and meandered into the bathroom. There was a large jacuzzi tub in the corner, a massive double vanity and a huge, walk-in shower. I whistled once and turned around making another lap around the room.

Rhys hadn’t asked if I wanted to stay and party, nor would I have likely taken him up on his offer, but I couldn’t stay cooped up in this room. Not after the last thirty-six hours of my life. Thankfully, I had been invited to the party downstairs, courtesy of Cassian.

No one paid me any attention as I crept downstairs. I slunk into the closest corner and settled in to watch the beautiful people at play. It was fascinating. Bodies writhed on an impromptu dance floor in the middle of the room. Someone lit up a cigar nearby, filling the air with a rich, spicy scent. Puffs of smoke billowed up toward the ceiling, a good twenty feet above. Diamonds glittered and teeth sparkled. You couldn’t get better people-watching if you tried. No sign of Cassian, sadly. At least he’d been somewhat nice.

“I don’t know you.”

I jumped slightly and turned, finding a man with blonde hair and a finely cut suit watching me while he sipped on a glass of amber liquid. I gave him an awkward smile and turned my gaze back to the room.

“You know, if you scoot half a foot to the left, you can hide behind that fake tree,” he said, gesturing to it and taking a sip of his drink. “Then you can disappear entirely. No one would see you.”

“Good to know,” I said, not turning back to him. I also didn’t deny that I was hiding. That was very clear.

He smiled at me and took a step forward, officially entering what I considered my personal space. No matter how nice his suit was, this guy creeped me out.

“I’m Tamlin.”

“Feyre.”

Another drink. “Nope, I definitely don’t know you.”

I shot him an incredulous look. “You know everyone here?” I gazed around the room. “There are a lot of people here. That’s impressive.”

“There are,” he agreed, tossing the rest of his drink back in one large swallow. “And I know them all. Everyone except you.”

“Rhys invited me.” I didn’t want to drop Rhysand’s name, but I was being backed into a corner, both figuratively and literally, as Tamlin closed in on me.

“Oh, really?” He purred. To anyone else, the tone may have been seductive. It gave me goosebumps, and not in a good way.

“He invited me to stay a few days, so,” I started looking for Cassian, Rhys, Kallias, anyone that could save me from this conversation.

Tamlin apparently couldn’t take the hint. “Well that was nice of him.”

“Yep.” I was being rude, but I didn’t care. I really wished I hadn’t left my phone upstairs. Even if it was dead, I could have pretended to take a phone call.

“Which room are you in?”

“The white one,” I said, looking for a way around him. “Speaking of, I’d better get back.”

“The white room? My, my, aren’t you special?”

I didn’t know what that meant and I didn’t want to know. “Aren’t I just? Excuse me.” I gave up on social niceties as I pushed past him.

He must not have been expecting it, or he was more fucked up than I thought, because he stumbled back a step. “Hold on now, wait a second.”

He reached for my arm, but an arm looped around my waist from behind me, pulling me out of Tamlin’s grasp. I looked up and found Rhys standing there. His face was hard. “We got a problem here, Tam?”

He shook his head, that cool smile coming back. “Not at all. Just getting to know Feyre.”

Those violet eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, you don’t need to know Feyre.”

“Not like you to cockblock, man,” Tamlin replied, his blonde eyebrows lowering. “And didn’t I see you with the lovely Ianthe out on the balcony earlier? Why don’t you go find her, get her to do what she’s damn good at? Feyre and I were kind of busy here.”

“No, we weren’t,” I said, but neither of them heard me. But then I wondered why Rhys was back from his play time with Little Miss Belly Chain so soon? Surely, he couldn’t have been concerned for his wife’s safety.

“Heard you invited her to stay in my house,” Tamlin asked, ignoring me completely.

“I was under the impression Hybern rented this place for all of us while we worked on the album.”

“Album has taken so long that they were threatening to pull the contract, and I liked the place. So I bought it.”

The way he said it, I knew the dig about the album was directed at Rhys. He didn’t even flinch.

“Great. Let me know when the deal goes through and I’ll be sure to get my shit out. In the meantime, my guests are none of your concern.”

Tamlin looked at me again and I saw recognition light his green eyes. “This is her, isn’t it? This is the one you married, you stupid son of a bitch.”

Rhysand completely ignored him. “Come on.” He grabbed my hand and began dragging me toward the staircase.

With a laugh, Tamlin called after him, “Any one of us could have fucked her up against a wall at a party, but you decided to marry her?”

Bullshit they could have, especially not him.

Rhys’ fingers tightened around my hand.

“Look at her, Rhys. Jeans and fucking t-shirt at a party. She’s nothing but a groupie. Tell me this marriage didn’t come courtesy of vodka and coke.”

Rhysand’s iron tight grip on my wrist disappeared and before I could turn to tell Tamlin what I really thought, Rhys had rushed him grabbing him by the lapels. The smirk on Tamlin’s face wasn’t helping the whole situation. The room hushed, the bumping bass the only background noise.

“Did I hit a nerve?” He breathed.

Rhys didn’t look ready for back down, but neither did Tamlin. Rhysand was seething. “Go ahead, show me who the star of this show really is.”

He looked ready to do just that. He tensed and looked ready to swing-.

“Rhys!”

Surprised eyes turned to look at me. Even I was surprised to have spoken. Tamlin looked at me smugly, but when Rhys turned to look at me, I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

I breathed, “Please.” I didn’t know what I was trying to accomplish, avoiding a brawl, I guess.

He turned, grabbing my wrist and marched us up the stairs. I heard Tamlin laugh from behind us, but he didn’t say anything else. Neither did Rhys. An elegant woman with long dark hair took a step forward, her hand outstretched. Distress lined her lovely face. “You know he doesn’t mean it.”

Rhys snapped, “Stay out of it, Am,” and continued up the stairs.

As soon as his attention was off of her, the woman was glaring at me. Not only did she look like she disliked me, but she was looking at me as if I were to blame for Rhysand’s current attitude. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was.

I didn’t have too long to think about it, though, because Rhysand dragged me the rest of the way up the stairs, and down the hallways toward my room. I had a feeling he was pretty pissed that I had left my room to begin with. Perhaps he would trap me inside, find a way to make sure I didn’t leave. Tamlin’s groupie comment repeated inside of my mind, making me fully aware just how underdressed I was, how out of place I looked.

Rhysand was probably embarrassed of me.

Halfway down the hallway, I finally managed to jerk my wrist free of Rhysand’s grip, before I completely lost feeling in my arm.

“I know the way,” I said. “I can make it there myself.”

“Still wanna get some, huh? You should have said something, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” he said with a false smile. “And hey, you’re not even shit-faced tonight. Chances are you’d remember.”

I scoffed. “Ouch.”

“Something I said untrue?” he asked, eyes ablaze.

“You’re being a prick,” I snapped.

He froze and turned, eyes wide and, surprisingly, shocked. “Me? I’m being a prick? For fucks sake, you’re my wife!”

“No, I’m not. You said yourself, right before you went to go play in the pool house with your little friend.” Though they hadn’t stayed long, only five, maybe six minutes. I almost felt bad for Little Miss Belly Chain. I know I would’ve been disappointed in such a lackluster performance. That wasn’t service with a smile.

He shook his head, a dark laugh leaving him, but there was no humor to it. Clearly, he wasn’t my biggest fan right now. It’s okay, the feeling was mutual.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Should I take you back to Tamlin?” He cracked his knuckles like he was preparing for a fight.

“No, thank you.”

“That was real nice, making fuck-me eyes at him, by the way. Out of everyone down there, you had to be flirting with Tam,” he sneered. “Classy, Feyre.”

“That’s honestly what you think was happening?”

“What with you and him getting all fucking cozy in the corner?”

“Seriously?”

“I know Tamlin and I know girls around Tamlin. That’s definitely what it looked like, baby.” He held his arms out wide, that tattoo with my name on it standing out, red and angry. “Prove me wrong.”

“I don’t even know how to make fuck-me eyes. And if I did, I definitely wouldn’t have been making them at that tool downstairs,” I snapped. No wonder so many marriages ended in divorce. Marriage sucked and husbands were the worst.

“Trust me, you absolutely do,” he breathed, and the tone of his voice had me looking up into his eyes. What I saw there unsettled me, especially considering what he’d just accused me of.

“It’s funny,” I started, crossing my arms. “My best friend begged me not to break the band up when I came out here, but I think you and Tamlin can handle that on your own. Your band issues might be even worse than your wife issues, and that’s saying something.” Slowly, I shook my head. “Thank you for offering me the opportunity to defend myself. I really appreciate it. But you know what, Rhys, I’m just not convinced your good opinion is worth it.”

He flinched.

I walked away before I said something worse. Forget anything amicable. The sooner we were divorced, the better.

#what happens in vegas #snelbz whiv #feysand #snelbz tacmc collab #snacmc #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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